The God Machine
by Admiral
Summary: Christopher Pike and the USS Enterprise embark on a five year mission to explore the galaxy.
1. Teaser One

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** For the record, the following story reflects how _I_ think Star Trek stories should be told, and not so much how they're told now, so in light of that I offer this warning: while I'm generally tolerant of nitpicks, any that begin with or include any variation of the phrase "That's not how it's supposed to work in Star Trek" will be laughed-out-loud at and summarily ignored, as, more often than not, that would be _the point_.

Consider this story the pilot episode of a series. Whether or not any more stories are added will depend on two things: Me improving my rather spotty writing discipline and audience reaction. My living up to my side of the bargain can be positively influenced by positive feedback, so review early and often.

**STAR TREK:**

**THE GOD MACHINE**

**By Darrin Colbourne**

* * *

**UNITED EARTH SPACE PROBE AGENCY HEADQUARTERS, STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN:**

"You should be working."

It was about the tenth time that she'd whispered that to herself, but Dr. Usma Narain found herself unable to concentrate on the minutia of her job. Instead, she found herself going back to the files of the prospective team leaders for the "Common Man" Project. She'd finally managed to narrow the number of possibles down to eighteen, and that only after four solid months of reviewing and weeding out lesser candidates. She'd been surprised at how many qualified candidates she and her staff had started out with. The Space Probe Agency was barely a year old, and she'd started it out with a small staff culled mainly from the ranks of her old stomping grounds, the Daedalus International Center for Scientific Research and Science Policy, yet the SPA had grown rapidly since then. More people than she'd expected followed her from the Daedalus Center, and the ranks of the new agency swelled with scientists and researchers from all over the planet. The draw was the Project, one of the most ambitious studies ever undertaken by Man. Everyone hoped to be part of it, but, naturally, only a relative few would actually take part in the field research, and fewer still would actually direct it. Eighteen had been chosen, but depending on the news from San Francisco she might have to reduce that number even further. Maybe that was why she couldn't tear herself from the personnel files. She was anticipating the need to resume the selection process.

A chime from her deskcomputer alerted her to an incoming comm call. Narain braced herself when the data crawl at the bottom of the display told her who it was. It was the call she'd been waiting for. She took one last look at the file on the screen, took a sip of coffee, then hit the contact for the communicator. The personnel file was replaced with the image of a gray-haired man in a dark suit, who looked to be sitting in an office. She could see part of a bookcase behind him, as well as a model of a centuries-old sea-going ship.

"Good Morning, Edward." She said after a quick glance at the time. It was still morning in California. "You must have just gotten in."

"About ten minutes ago." He said. "and I just checked my messages and found one you'll want to know about."

This was it. Edward Jellico, Admiral, United Earth Starfleet (Reserve) was the Agency's liaison with Starfleet Command in San Francisco. It had been up to him to arrange for the Fleet's support for the Project. "Is it good news?" She asked.

"Very good." Jellico said. "Starfleet is willing to commit twelve ships to the project."

"Twelve?" Narain was stunned. She'd hoped at best to get half that number, but didn't expect more than three. So she still had to reduce the number of research team leaders, but not as far as she thought, and the project would be well supported. "Well, how soon can we have them?"

"Several of them are currently deployed, so we'll have to wait until they get relief, then we need to get them all back to Earth. Starfleet says it should take about two weeks."

"So you know which ones they are?"

"Yes, I do. They're giving us the twelve ships of the _Constitution_ class."

Narain's heart sank. Now she understood why Starfleet was being so generous. "Edward, didn't you tell me the _Constitution_ ships were originally built before the Reunification War?"

"Yes, I did. Why?"

"That makes the design more than twenty years old!"

Jellico sighed. "Usma, we've been through this. It was hard enough to get the Fleet to part with _any_ frontline ships, even in the current state of interstellar peace. They're certainly not going to turn over ships that, by comparison, are just coming off the ways…unless you want nothing but supply ships and tugs made available. And don't let their age fool you. The entire class was completely overhauled a few years after the end of the war. The resulting ships are fast, versatile, exceedingly self-sufficient and well-armed, exactly the kind of ships we want to have out there."

Narain resigned herself. "I suppose I'll have to trust your judgment."

"Do that. Trust me when I say that we're getting a good deal. Have you made your choices?"

"I have six more than we need, actually."

"When you've made your final selections you should keep the extras in reserve. Just in case."

"Just in case. Of course." She smiled. Jellico smiled back.

"I bet I know who's at the top of your list." He said.

"Well, can you blame me? The girl is _brilliant_! She was my best researcher at the Daedalus Center and she has a gift for solving mysteries. And she has just the type of spacefaring experience you said they'd need. She has more than any of the others…"

"Relax, Usma!" Jellico chuckled. "You don't have to sell me! I read her file, too! Look, if you're set on keeping _your_ favorite, when we hand out the assignments, you can send her aboard _mine_." With that, he touched a few contacts on his own deskcomputer. His image on her screen was replaced with video footage and specs of one of the _Constitution_-class ships. "She was my command during the war." His voice said. "Fought in every major fleet action and made it through, bruised and scorched, but otherwise intact. She got two Fleet Unit Citations for service 'above and beyond'. And right now she's under the command of one of Starfleet's bright young stars. She ought to be a good fit for your protégé."

Narain looked closely at the screen. She regretted that with all the talk about the ships they might get or the ones they'd like to have gotten this was as close as she'd ever been to any of them. She was careful to take in as much as possible, the blue-white hull, the knife-blade like Space Warp engines, the oddly-curved saucer. The ship's registry number - NCC-1701 - was displayed prominently in white on one of the engines. When she'd seen enough, she looked at the top of the spec data and read the name:

"United Space Ship _Enterprise_."

"We ready to do this?" Jellico said.

Narain turned off the ship image and went back to Jellico. "We're ready. Let me know when the ships arrive."


	2. Segment One

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE GOD MACHINE**

**by Darrin Colbourne**

* * *

TO: COMMANDER, USS ENTERPRISE

FROM: COMMANDER, CRUISER/DESTROYER GROUP THREE

ESD/T: 6SEP2266/0534HRS

RE: REASSIGNMENT

1. UPON ARRIVAL OF USS SHERMAN (NCC-2347) IN OPAREA KNZ-3, ENTERPRISE IS RELIEVED OF PICKET DUTY AND WILL STAND DOWN.

2. RTB IMMEDIATELY TO JEFFERIES FB FOR REPLENISHMENT AND REFIT.

3. CPT PIKE WILL REPORT TO ADM JELLICO ON 7SEP2266 AT 0900HRS FOR NEW OPAREA ASSIGNMENT.

SIGNED,

COMCRUDESGRU3

He wasn't sure exactly how many times he'd read the written orders from his immediate superior. Four times? Five? He only knew he'd revisited them several times while the _Enterprise_ waited for _Sherman_ in her patrol area along the Neutral Zone, the No-Man's-Land that separated United Earth territory from that of the Klingon Empire. This was certainly the first time he'd looked at them since his ship had warped back into the Solar System and docked in the Walter Jefferies Fleet Base in Earth Orbit. The text hadn't changed any of those times, but it still made no sense to him.

The doorchime sounded through his quarters. "Come in." He called out as he tossed his datapad on his bunk.

The stateroom door slid open to reveal Commander Mary McDonald, his Executive Officer. "You wanted me to let you know: The engines are fully shut down and the ship is now operating on the base's power. Maintenance teams from the base are starting to arrive and Commander Adams is putting them to work. We've got the manifest for rearming and resupply - there are a few interesting things on that list - and the Uniform of the Day on the base is Dress Black."

"So much for my plan to wear my golf togs." Pike muttered. McDonald smiled, then her attention was drawn to the pad.

"How many times have you looked at those orders?" She asked.

Now the Captain smiled. "I was just wondering that myself." He said as he glanced at the pad.

"Well, there's no sense torturing yourself over them. You'll find out what's going on when you see Admiral Jellico tomorrow morning."

"Well, that's what I can't get my head around, Number One. Why _Jellico_? I thought he retired."

"Actually, he was on inactive reserve. I presume they reactivated him."

"Okay, but _why_? He was one of the best operational commanders during the War, but that was a decade ago. What's happening now that they need to pull him out of half-retirement? Any threats?"

McDonald checked her own pad. "Um, no. We just got an updated intelligence report. No indications of hostile activity on the part of the Romulans or any of their bloc."

"Including the Klingons?"

"Including the Klingons, though I would wager you already know that. If the Klingons were starting trouble they would have left us in Kinsey Three with _Sherman_."

"So they would've." Pike muttered, then said: "I guess you're right. I'll just find out what's going on tomorrow. Meanwhile, we should think about giving the crew some leave time. Do we have enough time for that?"

"No indication as yet. I suppose you'll find out when we're shipping out again when you meet with Jellico. Until then I don't want to scatter too many of the crew. Say we'll schedule two-day passes for non-essential crew starting when you return?"

"Very Well. Do that…and find out where _Hornet _is. _She_ was scheduled to be our relief at Kinsey Three."

"I know exactly where _Hornet_ is. She's docked in the berth to our port."

"Oh, _really_."

McDonald nodded. "And according to my friend on the base, we were preceded by three other _Constitution_-class ships…and more are on the way."

Pike looked away and thought out loud. "What kind of assignment would Jellico need a bunch of Connies for?"

When he looked back at McDonald, she was smiling.

He smiled back. "I know, I know…I'll find out tomorrow. Carry on, Number One."

"Aye, Sir." She said as she walked out.

* * *

The next morning Pike found out that Admiral Jellico was using temporary quarters on base as an office, so the Captain's first stop was Officer Country. It wasn't hard to find. Jefferies Fleet Base was a massive facility, big enough to service 24 of the largest starships in Starfleet at once, but it was also a major deployment and recovery post, so most people in the service were familiar with the place. The Uniform of the Day was again "Dress Black", so Pike was turned out in his space black uniform slacks and jacket, complete with rank insignia and decorations. His white, black-billed uniform cap was tucked under his right arm as he made his way to the base tram.

Two other captains in Dress Black caught up with him as he boarded the tram. One was a tall, athletic, dark-skinned brunette and the other about an inch shorter than Pike, dark-haired and wiry. He recognized them immediately. "_There_ you are." Pike said to the brunette. "Aren't you supposed to be on the KNZ?"

Captain Soledad Ortiz, commander of the USS _Hornet_, smiled and said: "I was working up to relieve you when I got my orders to come here. What's going on? Who let Jellico out of his cage? I haven't heard about any threats."

Captain James Crawford, commander of the USS _Kitty Hawk_, responded as they found seats. "Knowing Starfleet, they probably want him to command Red Team in some exercise and he's using us to simulate the Orions or something."

"God, I hope not." Ortiz said. "Besides the fact that the two of you would look _horrid_ in green, I just finished three weeks training to fight Klingons. It'll take me another three to learn how to be a proper space pirate."

"I don't think this is an exercise." Pike said as the tram got moving. "They wouldn't pull ships off of frontline posts to play Red Team. Something's up, something only Connies can do."

"What might that be?" Crawford said. "Connies can do a lot, but they don't do all that much _exclusively_."

"Well, maybe it's not about the ships." Ortiz said. "Maybe there's something about _us_."

"So, we're special," Crawford said, "and we all just happen to run _Constitution_-class ships? Coincidence much?"

"He's got a point." Pike said. "Jellico wants us _and_ our ships. We just need to find out why."

"Won't be long now." Crawford said as the tram came to their stop.

Base Quarters were divided into special sections. It only took a minute or so for the trio to reach the VIP section from the tram station. Pike donned his cap (his companions were already wearing theirs) as they reached the quarters being used by Jellico. Ortiz pressed the contact for the doorchime, and they were surprised to hear a young woman respond. "Come in!"

The door slid open on a small suite. A young, blonde officer in Dress Black was sitting at the coffee table in the Sitting Room. There were a few datapads arranged neatly on the table and the officer was studying them before the captains walked in. When she saw them she stood immediately and offered a quick salute, which Pike returned. "Good Morning, Sirs." She said. "I'm Ensign Colt, the Admiral's aide."

"Captain Christopher Pike." Pike said.

"Yes, Sir, I know." Colt said. "And you're Captains Ortiz and Crawford. I recognize you from your files."

"We were expecting to meet Admiral Jellico." Ortiz said.

"Yes, Sir. The Admiral had a last-minute appointment, so he'll meet you in the Ready Room."

"Which Ready Room?" Crawford said.

"Ready Room Six. Once you go out the door, cut right, and then left at the second corridor. It'll be a short trip through Officer Country to get to…"

Pike held up a hand. "We'll find it. Thanks for your help, Ensign."

"Yes, Sir." Colt said with a smile. "You're Welcome, Sir." She offered another salute as the captains left.

They talked as they made their way. "Group Ready Room." Pike said, thinking out loud.

"Think we're forming up a new squadron?" Crawford said.

"I'd say that's obvious." Ortiz said. "But forming up to do what?"

"Maybe we're going to play Red Team after all." Pike said.

"All I know is, I'm not playing an animal woman." Ortiz said, making the others chuckle.

A few minutes later they were one level down and making their way through the base Ready Room Section. Ready Rooms were actually small lecture rooms used by Combat Groups and Tactical and Logistics Support Squadrons for mission briefings. There were ten rooms in all. The first four were reserved for units integral to Jefferies Base. The rest were set aside for visiting units to use.

Ready Room Six was already abuzz with conversation. Five other Starfleet captains had preceded Pike's group. One of them was another friend of Pike's friends, Gabriel Kono of the _Independence_. The two men shook hands, then Kono handled the introductions for the others.

As the captains talked, Pike noticed that there was another gathering at the other side of the room. There were three men and four women, all in civilian clothes. Pike caught the gaze of one of the women. She was tall, dark, strikingly pretty and shapely. He was tempted to offer a smile, but the look in her eyes made him think twice about it. It was a look that only those with a truly special disdain for the military could manage.

It was a little after 9:00 AM by the time everyone had arrived. In all, there were twelve Starfleet captains and twelve civilians of various stripes in the group. Jellico arrived as the last officers showed up, with another civilian in tow, a handsome older woman. Both were in civilian clothes, which surprised the officers. They'd expected "Old Bulldog" Jellico to be in a Dress Black Uniform top-heavy with decorations. His suit _was _black, but the only evidence of his connection to The Fleet was a Starfleet Insignia lapel pin.

Jellico took the lectern as his companion found a seat in front of the room. "Okay," Jellico said, "it looks like everyone's here, so why don't you all take some seats and we can get started." He paused as the gathering complied. He was mildly amused to see that, when everyone was settled in, the officers and civilians were sitting on opposite sides of the room, without mingling. It was like boys and girls in Kindergarten.

When he had their attention, he began: "Thank you for coming. First, I think some introductions are in order. For those of you who don't know us, I'm Edward Jellico, and I'm an Admiral in the United Earth Starfleet Reserves. The woman to my left" - he inticated the woman he arrived with - "is Dr. Usma Narain, director of the United Earth Space Probe Agency. Now, to some of you , this is a new agency, and it has a very ambitious goal, one that all of you will have a hand in accomplishing. I'll start by letting my friend explain that goal to you. Ladies and Gentlemen, Dr. Usma Narain."

There was a smattering of applause as Dr. Narain stood and approached the lectern. Applause from the _civilians_, at least. The Starfleet officers looked at them as if they were mutants when they did it, causing the ovation to peter out.

After witnessing this, Jellico and Narain traded a look. "Oh, this is gonna go _real_ well." Jellico whispered to her as he took a seat. She smiled at the comment before turning her attention to the audience.

"Good Morning, Everyone." She said. Her slightly accented English matched her Middle Eastern looks. "Thank you for coming. What we're going to discuss today is a project that, if successful, has the potential to change the face of the galaxy. Dim Lights."

The last was a voice command for the automatic switches that controlled the lighting in the Ready Room. They immediately dimmed to half-strength, then Dr. Narain used controls in the lectern to activate the display.

"Human. Vulcan. Andorian. Klingon. Romulan. Orion." As she spoke each race name a representative image appeared on the screen. "All _Aliens_, at least to each other. It's how we think of them, and how they think of us. Yet, look at these images. We are all, after a fashion, primates. We are all four-limbed, with ten fingers and ten toes. We all have forward-looking eyes, large brains. We all have the capacity to learn, the ability to speak, to write, to create. We have been poets, philosophers and architects. We have also fought wars, internal ones in the distant past, external ones more recently. There is so much that our peoples have in common with each other, is it not reasonable to wonder whether our perception of each other as 'alien' is nothing more than an assumption based on appearance and distance? Isn't it more likely that, despite our evolution on scattered worlds across space, that we are in fact one people?

"These are questions that I wish to answer, questions that the United Earth Space Probe Agency was created to answer, and the agency's first effort to that end will be the launch of the Common Man Project.

"Here is our hypothesis: The similarities evident in the known races seem to indicate a common ancestry. This raises a number of questions, not the least of which is 'Is our hypothesis correct?' _Is _there a common ancestor? If so, was it humanoid, or some other form of life? How was it transported across space? Was it simply the result of natural forces, or was there an outside agency involved? The Common Man Project is designed to answer these questions - or, at least, tell us the questions we should be asking.

"The Project will consist of two simultaneous investigations, which we call 'Project: Home' and 'Project: Away'. Project: Home is already underway. We intend for it to be a comprehensive examination of Known Space, of its peoples and their worlds and territories. We will look at the Biology, Sociology, Geophysics and Astrophysics of the region in the hope of uncovering a common thread, a piece of evidence that might point directly to a single origin. We already have the necessary permissions from the governments of Earth, Andoria and Vulcan, and we hope to obtain similar cooperation from the Klingons, Romulans and Orions.

"Of course, even if we comb all of Known Space for answers, they simply may not be here. They may be in uncharted space, far beyond our little corner of the universe. For that reason, Unknown Space must be investigated as well. That is the purpose of Project: Away. It is also why we have brought you here.

"You, Ladies and Gentlemen, will be the core of the 'Away' Project. With the goals of the Common Man Project as your guide and under the supervision of Admiral Jellico, it will fall upon you to investigate uncharted space. It will be up to you, our best researchers and our most able spacefarers, to pool your talents and uncover any clues that the wider universe may hold. It will not be easy, nor will it be done overnight, but I'm confident that, with your efforts, if there are answers to be found out there, we _will _find them." She was smiling, and she paused to let it sink in. "Thank you for listening. Now I will turn you back over to Admiral Jellico."

This time no one applauded as Jellico returned to the lectern. If that bothered him he didn't show it. "All right, now I'll give all of you an overview of the mission plan." He touched a control on the lectern. The life models were replaced by an image of the galaxy, viewed from "above".

"I need you captains especially to pay attention to this." He said. "We're going to treat this as an extremely long-ranged reconnaissance-in-force." He touched another contact and a small area in the Orion Arm of the galaxy was circled. "We'll use Known Space as an anchor and divide the bulk of the galaxy into twelve patrol sectors." Another contact, then the galaxy was divided into twelve wedge-like slices. "Each starship will be assigned a sector. Your mission is to seek out and survey as many planets with conditions similar to the Known Worlds as possible within your sector, on a course that will take you toward the opposite edge of the galaxy from your start point."

Crawford, who was sitting behind and to the right of Pike, leaned forward and whispered in Pike's ear: "The Old Man has gone _senile_!"

He wasn't quite discreet enough. "Did you have a question, Captain?"

Pike saved him. "Sir, we were just wondering if we aren't being a little _too_ ambitious here? I mean, you could divide the galaxy into hundreds of pieces and assign every ship in the Fleet to one, and even with _Warp_ a survey like this would take _centuries_ to complete."

"Lights." Jellico said, then as the lights came back up: "You're right, of course, but I only have twelve ships to work with and _this _survey will only take you five years."

"Excuse me, Sir?" Pike said.

Dr. Narain answered from her seat. "We don't expect you to explore the entire galaxy by yourselves, Captain. Eventually the Space Probe Agency will be able to field its own fleet of dedicated, long-range exploration ships. We have several designs in development, but we do not expect the first production units to be delivered for at least five years. Once we have those ships we'll be able to explore much greater pieces of the galaxy at once. Until then, Starfleet was gracious enough to lend us you and your ships. We can relieve you of the assignment as our own ships come on-line, but for now…think of it as giving us a head start."

"With respect, Ma'am," Crawford said, "That's not much comfort. Even with a time limit, we're still talking about a small number of ships and a whole lot of space."

"Oh, it's not all that bad, Crawford." Jellico said. "You'll have help."

"We will, Sir?"

"Absolutely. You see those nice people you and your colleagues have been treating like they have Cooties?"

He was indicating the civilians, which made all the officers look toward them, and the civilians, naturally, looked back.

"They're all Senior Researchers." Jellico said. "Each one of you will be assigned a researcher of your very own, and each of them will bring along a research team. _They_ will do the heavy lifting in the survey."

Kono raised his hand. When Jellico acknowledged him: "Sir, you mean you want us to _ferry_ the civilians to the subject worlds?"

"Not quite, Captain." The Admiral said. "They won't be _civilians_."

Now it was the _researchers'_ turn to wonder if Jellico were senile, but they were much more vocal about it. Several shouts of "What?" and a host of double-takes greeted his statement from that part of the room, but Jellico continued to address Kono.

"We want the research teams to be fully integrated with the Starfleet crews, so the researchers will be given temporary Starfleet ranks and the senior researchers will serve as part of the command crews. They will be given the title 'Science Officer' and will replace your Operations Officers."

The captains came close to rebelling then. "Sir," Ortiz said, "All Due Respect, how are we expected to function without our Ops officers?"

"Operations Officers have a mission-planning function." Jellico said. "Since the mission in this case is Scientific Research, it makes sense for the senior researcher to perform that function."

"But I didn't get into this to get drafted into _Starfleet_!" One of the researchers called out. He was cheered by shouts of "Yeah!" from his colleagues.

"It's not like that!" Narain said. "The ranks are just to help you operate more efficiently aboard the ships."

The woman who'd caught Pike's eye earlier spoke up. "Ranks are nothing more than tools for keeping people in their place! What kind of freedom would we have to work under those circumstances?"

It was too much for some of the captains. "Hey, Miss," Crawford said, "why don't you try _not _commenting on things you don't understand?"

_That_ started a free-for-all, with officers and researchers arguing loudly with each other and pleading loudly with their superiors. It went on for about a minute before Jellico got tired of it. "Settle Down." He said. "Settle Down…_HEY!_"

The last was delivered with his "Command Voice". It had just the right effect. It made everyone shut up and look at him.

He continued in a normal tone of voice. "Everything you need to know will be spelled out in your orders, and there'll be time enough to ask questions today, but _we're not finished here._ I'd _like_ to complete my briefing. Any objections?"

The researchers settled themselves indignantly, and the captains did so reluctantly, but everyone kept quiet and gave their attention to Jellico.

"Very Well." He said, then dimmed the lights again and continued with his overview of the mission plan. As he did, Dr. Narain tried to make herself invisible in the half-darkness, comforted very little by the fact that it had actually gone _better_ than she'd thought it would.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Pike was back in _Enterprise_'s berth and making his way to the Main Access Hatch in the Support Section of the ship. As he crossed the threshold from the gangway onto the deck, the Starfleet Landing Force security troop standing watch just inside greeted him with a salute, then keyed his headset to "Intercraft". "_Enterprise_ Arriving." He announced, letting the entire ship know The Captain was back aboard.

Pike made his way to the nearest turbolift without a word to anyone he passed along the way. He took the lift straight to the Command Deck. He wasn't surprised to see Commander McDonald waiting for him when he stepped out of the lift, and only mildly surprised to see his Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander John Marcus Adams, waiting with her.

"Welcome back, Sir." McDonald said cheerfully. "I trust your meeting with the Admiral went well."

Pike merely grunted and brushed past them on his way to his quarters.

"I'll take that as a 'No'." McDonald muttered as she and Adams fell in step behind him.

Pike addressed them without turning around. "We're being re-assigned all right." He took off his cap so he could scratch his head, then tucked the hat under his arm.

"So we're working for _Jellico_ now?" Adams said. "How _big_ is this?"

"Oh, it's _cosmic_." Pike said, chuckling mirthlessly.

"Will there be time for the crew to go ashore?" McDonald asked.

"Absolutely. We ship out on the 28th. Start scheduling two-day passes for the crew ASAP. Have them get home if they can and visit their families and their sweethearts, 'cause when we deploy, we're gonna be out a _long_ time."

Adams and McDonald looked at each other as Pike reached his quarters. He opened the door and motioned them to follow as he went inside.

"Well, what exactly are we doing?" Adams asked.

Pike sat down on his bunk and finally looked at them. "You're not gonna believe this." He said. The door closed as he laid the mission out for his officers.


	3. Segment Two

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE GOD MACHINE**

**by Darrin Colbourne**

* * *

Later that day Admiral Jellico and Ensign Colt were in Jellico's quarters working out the logistics requirements for his new squadron, which was now officially dubbed Deep Reconnaisance Group One. He was just about to go over the ships' itemized supply requests when his door chimed. Colt got up immediately to answer it. "Good Afternoon, Captain." She said, brightly as ever.

It was Christopher Pike. "Afternoon, Ensign. Could I see the Admiral?"

"Come on in, Chris." Jellico called from the couch. Colt stepped aside to let Pike into the sitting room. The Captain took off his cap and tucked it under his arm as Jellico stood to greet him, and the two men shook hands. "Good to see you again." Jellico said.

"Likewise, Sir." Pike said. "I was hoping we could talk…"

"Of course. Have a seat, Chris. Ensign, why don't you hit the commissary for some fresh coffee? Give us about ten minutes?"

"Yes, Sir." Colt said, then left the suite as Pike sat down in one of the soft chairs near the couch. When the front door closed, Jellico resumed his seat. Then the Admiral just looked at Pike for a moment. Then he smiled.

"I knew they'd send you." He said with a soft chuckle.

"Sorry, Sir?" Pike said.

"You and the other captains got together and decided that somebody needed to come and talk some sense into 'The Old Man,' and once you all came to that conclusion everybody else volunteered _you_. Is that about right?"

Now Pike chuckled. "Yes, Sir. That's pretty much how it happened."

"I knew it. You've just got that quality, Chris. Even your peers look to you for leadership. Well, okay. You've come all this way, so make your pitch."

"Sir, are you absolutely sure that our ships are the right ones for this job? I mean, I know the Connies are a little old, but they're still capable, front-line ships, and they shouldn't be relegated to this kind of duty…"

"Hold on, Captain! Nobody's 'relegated' to anything! First of all, Starfleet happens to agree with you about your ships, which is why, as stated in your orders, they've reserved the right to recall them in the event of an outbreak of hostilities, or any other emergency. Second of all, _I_ agree with you, too, which is why I'm glad to have them. When I first started negotiating with Command I was worried that they'd try to pawn off some mothballed ships on me. Let me set your mind at ease, Chris. Your ships are here because they can do the job, and Starfleet's only letting me have them because the Klingons _aren't_ storming across the Neutral Zone right now."

"Well, if that's true, Sir, why risk ruining the efficiency of our ships by tossing off our Ops people in favor of…scientists?"

"The ships have more than enough equipment to gather the necessary data, but no one with the training to analyze it from a purely scientific standpoint. The researchers have that training, and as long as you're on this mission you'll need them more than you'll need the Ops officers."

"But we'll need our Operations people in the event of any of the crises you mentioned. Why not just keep both officers?"

"You're going to be overmanned as it is when the research teams report aboard. _Somebody_ has to go, and in this case the Ops people are the only ones that are redundant."

Pike frowned. "I don't think Matt Decker would think of himself as redundant."

"Commander Decker's a fine officer and a good Operations man, but your XO is just as capable in those respects. Let her handle those duties when the stuff hits the fan. Meanwhile, you have to take the best personnel for the mission, and that's your Science Officer and her team."

"'Her' team, Sir?"

"Yes, 'Her'. You'll be assigned Dr. Narain's protégé, Dr. Isabel Montoya. Hang on…" He reached over to the table to grab a datapad, tapped some controls, then handed the small computer to Pike. "Here's her file."

Pike took the pad and looked at the screen. When he saw the attached picture he knew his crappy day was complete. "Oh, jolly." He muttered. "It's Little Miss 'Ranks are tools of oppression'."

Jellico chuckled. "Don't take it personally. It was probably just the heat of the moment."

Pike remembered that first look she'd given him. "I don't think so, Sir."

"The researchers didn't know any more about our plans than you did. They were just as surprised. Things get said."

Pike looked at the Admiral, then took one last look at the pad. Then he put it back on the table and rested his cap near it. "May I speak freely, Sir?" He said.

Jellico sighed and braced himself. "Go ahead."

Pike leaned forward in his seat and looked Jellico in the eye. "Admiral, I've paid my dues. I got into the Academy and graduated top of my class. I _aced_ the course at Space Combat School. I did my time in the Reunification War, I worked my way up to Command, and the ship I was given was the Big _E_ - _your _ship, the _workhorse_ of the Fleet throughout the conflict. I can't speak for the others in this case, but _I_ sure as Hell didn't think all of that was leading up to five years of counting gas clouds."

"It's not 'counting gas clouds'. We're sharing an orbit right now with several satellites that are more than capable of doing that. You're embarking on a project that those satellites _can't_ do."

"A _research_ project. _Enterprise_ is a warship."

"And I thought we established earlier that there's no _war_ on right now, Captain. It may be a while before your ship is needed to fight again, but it's needed right now for _this_ mission."

"Well, why not use dedicated research ships?"

"Weren't you listening at the briefing? We don't have any."

Pike just looked at Jellico for a moment, then looked away. After staring into space for a moment, he turned back and said: "Can I ask you a personal question, Sir?"

"No guarantee I'll answer it." Jellico said.

"Why are _you_ here? I understand I'm here because you wanted me and Starfleet complied, but what about you? What could possibly motivate an old warhorse like you to want to take part in something like this?"

Now it was Jellico's turn to look away. He thought for a moment, sighed, then turned back. "Well, I could tell you why _Dr. Narain_ wants to do this. She seems to think that if we find this 'Common Ancestor' of hers, she can hold it up to all the races around here staring at each other across Neutral Zones and the like and say 'See? We're all One People! There's no reason to shoot at each other any more!' And, you're right, Captain. I _am_ old, and maybe I'm a little tired of the shooting and waiting for the shooting myself, so maybe I'm doing this in the hope that she's right. Or, maybe I'm the type of hardass who thinks she should learn how naïve she's being the hard way, so I'm setting her up for a big fall. _Or_, I dunno, maybe I just think she's kinda hot, and I figure helping her out is the best way to get into her lab coat."

That last one made Pike's mouth twist up. Jellico shook his head and chuckled when he saw this.

"My point here, Chris, is that knowing _my_ motivation for doing this isn't really going to help you deal with _your_ participation, is it?"

Pike smiled. "No, Sir. I guess not."

"Then you'll just have to settle for the facts: You're here because Starfleet seconded your ship to Dr. Narain and Dr. Narain put me in charge of managing Project: Away, which means you work for _me_, so you will embark on this mission the way I've laid it out because _I Said So_. Is that clear, Captain?"

Pike straightened up immediately. "Yes, Sir. As _crystal_, Sir."

"Then you can pass _that_ message on to the rest of the squadron. Now, is there anything else we need discuss?"

"No, Sir."

"Then you have a ship to prepare. Dis_missed_."

Pike stood, retrieved his cap and came to attention in one fluid motion, then he saluted Jellico, turned on his heel and left the suite.

Jellico smiled again after the door closed. Sometimes a reputation as an "Old Bulldog" had its benefits. He didn't expect any more trouble from his senior commanders.

* * *

The Admiral's rep was a leadership tool that other people sometimes envied. Dr. Usma Narain was one of them. Unknown to Jellico and Pike, while they were talking, a similar discussion was taking place in another VIP suite between Dr. Narain and Dr. Isabel Montoya. The young researcher had been holding court in Narain's sitting room for about five minutes, pacing back and forth and ranting about the indignities she suffered at the briefing, and the UESPA Director wished she could simply bark something with authority and make her stop, but she'd never worked that way at the Daedalus Center and her researchers were used to being able to talk freely. So Narain had no choice but to let Montoya get it all out of her system and wait for the opportunity to get a word in.

It finally came when Montoya stopped pacing and turned to plead with her. "Is there _anything_ I can say that will get you to change your mind about this?"

Narain shook her head. "You can say whatever you'd like, Isabel, but there's nothing I can do. If we're going to start both investigations at once we need Starfleet's ships."

"Why? What about all those ships we used at the Center?"

"Most of those 'ships' were merely pleasure craft we converted for research. The Daedalus Center only has two dedicated research vessels and they've refused to lend us even one of them. Besides, _nothing_ we've ever used before is as capable as these Starfleet ships. They're designed for extended deployments. They have incredible range, speed, endurance…"

"Because they're designed to _kill people_, Usma!" Montoya said. "They're built to kill people flying similar ships!" This started her pacing again.

"That is true," Narain said, "but that fact does not make them any less useful for _our_ purposes. Really, Isabel, we're lucky to have them."

Montoya stopped pacing again. "But we don't _need_ them! Why can't we just postpone the Away project until our own ships are built?"

"We may not have the opportunity in five years! Anything can happen! Strictly speaking, the Reunification War never ended. There's merely a cease-fire between the Vulcans and Romulans, and their satellites - including Earth - are just barely restraining themselves. Conflict could break out at any time, and if that happens _civilian_ space travel will be severely restricted. If we're going to launch an investigation of uncharted space it must be done _now_, while we're in a relative state of peace, and if Starfleet is willing to _help_ us do it, all the better."

Montoya huffed. "They didn't seem very willing in the briefing room."

"The starship captains were just taken by surprise. Admiral Jellico assures me that even if they resist at first, they will do everything they can to help us accomplish our goals."

"Of course, because _Heaven forbid_ they fail to do the bidding of the Great and Powerful Lord Jellico."

"That's unfair, Isabel. Edward has been a great help to me. I shudder to think what I might have done if I hadn't had him working on my behalf within the Government and Starfleet Command. I might still be _wishing_ I could start the Common Man Project today instead of actually seeing it get underway. Look, we both know that the fact that Starfleet is involved isn't really your problem. The service has assisted in several research efforts in the past, so what is it?"

Montoya looked away and crossed her arms. Narain waited patiently while her protégé weighed whether or not to tell her. Finally the young woman turned back and said: "_Must_ we wear uniforms?"

Narain smiled. "That _really_ bothers you so much? Isabel, they're just clothes."

"No they're _not_." Montoya said as she started to pace again. "They're symbols. They say that you're no longer an individual. You're just part of some kind of massive Humanoid _machine_ and you just have to perform your function, say 'Yes, Sir' and 'No, Sir' and never have another original thought."

Now Narain sighed. "It was part of our agreement with Starfleet. They weren't willing to take the _legal_ risk of keeping groups of civilians aboard their ships for so long in uncharted space. With all of you accepting Starfleet ranks, that risk is eliminated."

"With the added bonus that the ships' commanders can order us around like slaves."

"Isabel, I'm surprised that you, of all my researchers, has failed to realize the practical benefits of your temporary rank, most notably the fact that _you can give orders as well_."

Montoya stopped pacing. "Why is _that_ a benefit?"

"At some point during the mission you may find that you need to give orders to members of the regular Starfleet crew. As long as you're a civilian, they might refuse to follow those orders. You might be in a position where you'd have to confirm every decision with the captain. But you'll have a _commission_ - as a Lieutenant Commander, I believe - and your status as a senior officer will afford you more autonomy than you might think. The research team will be yours to run as you see fit, and as the mission you're on will be dictated by the Project agenda, it's likely that the Captain will often have to defer to your judgement."

Montoya turned away to think about it. "Maybe you're right," she said, "but then that means uniforms _aren't _'just clothes', are they?"

Narain smiled. "I suppose not, but in this case they are _necessary_. Call them a 'necessary evil', if you must…but, Isabel, it is important for you to understand: I want you to take part in this, and I know you want to be part of it, but for us to get what we want, it _must_ be done this way." She had to lay it out this way. Unlike Jellico, she couldn't guarantee the cooperation of her people. Though Montoya was the first to come talk to her, she expected several others to follow, and she was sure there'd be a few resignations. Better to settle such matters before the teams were expected to board the ships. At least she had been smart enough to take Jellico's advice and keep some candidates in reserve.

Montoya was still thinking. Narain _was_ right about how a temporary rank would let her interact with the crew and, that being the case, working on one of the Starfleet ships couldn't be _that_ much different from being on one of the Center's research ships. And she _did_ want to be in on the launch of the Project. Ultimately, she sighed and turned to her mentor. "Fine." She said. "I'll wear the uniform."

Narain grinned. "That's my girl."

* * *

**STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN:**

With Project: Away set to begin in a few weeks, it was up to the nascent Science Officers to pick their research teams. They returned to Earth the day after the mission briefing and over the next few days set about sorting through and selecting eligible candidates. Isabel Montoya already knew who her first choices would be. The first was Gwendolyn Flores, her best friend and a Ph. D. in the rapidly growing field of Exobiology, the study of non-terrestrial life. The other was Benjamin Goren, another good friend and an Engineer, who'd left a mid-level position at a large government contractor to join the Daedalus Center. Three days after the briefing Isabel had invited them to her flat in Stockholm to inform them of the status of the project and formally ask them to join her team. When she was done with her proposal, Benjamin looked visibly stunned.

"I'll be damned." He said. "I'm back in _Starfleet_."

"Ben, it's totally voluntary." Isabel said. "You don't have to go if you don't want to."

"Yeah, that's what my parents told me before I joined up the first time." Benjamin said. "If there hadn't been a cease-fire in the Reunification War I'd've never gotten out."

"I thought you told us you never saw any action." Gwendolyn said.

"I never left Earth orbit." Benjamin said with a shrug. "I was stationed in one of the older maintenance facilities. That didn't mean it was a fun experience."

"Well, you might enjoy it more this time." Isabel said. "You'd get to be an officer."

"That just means I have to take orders from even _bigger_ weenies. I walked out of Basic a Crewman Third Class and four years later I walked out of Starfleet a Crewman Second Class without any regrets. If I wanted to be an officer I'd never have left."

"Well, as I said, it's entirely up to you. You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"But that's the problem: I _do_ want to come, but you said the catch is I gotta be back in Starfleet."

"That's the catch. For the record, I'm not much happier about it than you are."

"I believe it, but the point is I want to go, and I have to be back in Starfleet to go, so…I'm back in Starfleet. Damn." The women laughed as he shook his head.

When she recovered, Isabel said: "Well, if it makes you feel any better, Ben, one of those 'bigger weenies' you'll have to take orders from will be _me_."

"And good for _you_, By The Way." Gwendolyn said. "Big Time Team Leader and everything. Nice to see all that time being Narain's pet wasn't wasted."

"Ha, ha." Isabel said.

"I'm just _kidding_, Belle." Gwendolyn said. "I, for one, will be more than happy to go with you on the big Starfleet ship and back you up on the Project."

"_Thank_ you, Wendy."

"Besides…I can't wait to see how _gorgeous_ I'll look in one of those uniforms."

"Oh, believe me," Benjamin said, "after a couple of weeks wearing the same thing _over and over_ again, the novelty wears off."

Isabel suddenly jumped up. "Oh! That reminds me!" She said. "Wendy, could you give me a hand?"

Gwendolyn got up and followed Isabel into the bedroom. Benjamin stood as the women did out of habit and remained standing while he waited for them to come back. It wasn't long before they came back into the living room. Each of them was laden down with several plain-looking clothes boxes, which they spread out on the couch.

"One of the reasons I'm glad you're coming is because you've been through this before." Isabel said to Benjamin. "I know _nothing_ about the military, and before I spend five years on a ship full of career Starfleeters I want to have someone with experience on _my_ side to keep me from walking into a minefield."

"I'll do what I can to help." Benjamin said. Isabel smiled at him then looked at the clothes boxes.

"When we accepted the assignment, Dr. Narain had us all go to the big store on the base…what did they call it again?"

"Base Exchange." Benjamin prompted. Isabel nodded and continued.

"We were all sent there to have our measurements taken. Yesterday morning these arrived by messenger."

"They gotta be your uniforms."

"They are."

"Can we see them?" Gwendolyn asked.

"Sure." Isabel said and all three descended on the boxes. They'd already been opened, but Isabel hadn't wanted to take anything out until she'd seen Benjamin. When they were done, the box tops were resting on other chairs in the room while the three researchers gazed at the garments.

"So," Isabel said, "my first question is…how do I know which one to wear?"

Benjamin looked at her. "Didn't they give you any instructions?"

"They told me they would be in here." Isabel said as she reached for a datapad on the table. She handed it to Benjamin, who read the title page being displayed.

It said: "United Earth Starfleet Rules and Regulations."

"Oh, nice." Benjamin said. "You realize this thing is about five hundred pages long, right?"

"That's why I wanted to talk to you first." Isabel said.

"And you call yourself a _Research_ Scientist." Gwendolyn quipped. Isabel nudged her with an elbow.

"The officers I was in the briefing with were wearing this one." Isabel said, pointing to the deep black jacket with white buttons and black pants in an elongated box.

"Dress Black Utility." Benjamin said.

"I think most of the people I saw on the base were wearing uniforms like this. How did they know?"

"Well, since it's Jefferies Base we're talking about, it's probably just the Uniform of The Day."

"They wear a different uniform every day?" Gwendolyn said.

"No. 'Uniform of the Day' just means that, with some exceptions, that's what people who work at the base are expected to wear on a daily basis. This will change in the event of the outbreak of war, or during special ceremonies. The officers you saw at the briefing probably found out from the base what they needed to wear."

"Okay, what about the white one?" Gwendolyn said, pointing to the all-white jacket and pants in the other elongated box. "That's for ceremonies, right?"

"Well, you can use Dress Black _or_ White, depending on the ceremony."

"Okay," Isabel said, "What about _this_ one?" She pulled a dark blue mock-neck turtleneck shirt out of one of the smaller boxes and showed it to Benjamin. The name "Montoya" was stitched in white block caps on the left side of the neck, and their were three small white stripes on the right, a skinny one flanked by two fat ones. "They sent me three of these shirts, along with pairs of black pants with lots of pockets."

Benjamin smirked. "Work Colors. That'll be UD on the ship most of the time. You wear the shirt with the black work slacks."

"What are the spots?" Gwendolyn said. There were large gray spots on each shoulder and a smaller one over the left breast.

"That's where the service patches go." Benjamin said. "Right shoulder is Rank Patch - that displays your rank, naturally - Left is Unit Patch - that'll show the ship's insignia. That'll be a neat little emblem thing - and Left breast is for the Branch Patch. That's usually the Starfleet Emblem or the Starfleet Landing Force Emblem. Are we going to go whole hog and use the Starfleet Emblem or has Dr. Narain got something else in mind for the science teams?"

"I'll have to talk to her about that." Isabel said.

"Everybody wears these on the ship?" Gwendolyn said.

"Not the same color." Benjamin said. "Most of the crew, including the Captain, will wear Gold. They're all former smallcraft pilots, or large ship pilots, or maintainers of same. They tend to think of themselves as hotshots, whether they are or not. Engineers wear Red. They do the _real_ work keeping the ships from flying apart."

Isabel and Gwendolyn shared a smirk. Benjamin had been an Engineer's Mate.

"Let's see…" He continued, "Landing Force grunts wear Dark Green - they're the ones you want to call if something on the ground or on the ship needs to get beat up real good - and the smallcraft pilots wear Black - Work Black, naturally."

"It's like street gangs." Gwendolyn said. "Everybody in colors."

"It never gets that bad…well, almost never. Everybody can get pretty territorial, though."

"Why do we get Blue?" Isabel said as she put the shirt down.

"They must have attached us to the Medical Corps." Benjamin said. "That's the color of the Chief Medical Officer and his department."

"So continuing with Wendy's 'street gang' theory, if there's ever a turf war…"

"We're part of the only gang that won't want to hurt anybody."

"There's a comforting thought." Gwendolyn said with a chuckle.

"So when we go to the ship," Isabel said, "we wear the Work Colors?"

"Definitely," Benjamin said, "because _work_ is likely all we'll do from the moment we step aboard."

"I see. Thank you, Ben. I think this is going to work out well."

"I aim to please. So…do you know which ship we're assigned to?"

"Dr. Narain told me it was the _Enterprise_."

Benjamin was stunned again. "Wait…_THE Enterprise_? _Jellico's Enterprise_? That's the ship we're going to?"

"Dr. Narain said it was Admiral Jellico's ship once." Isabel said.

"Is it special?" Gwendolyn said.

"Is it _special?_" Benjamin said with a chuckle. "You're kidding!" When he realized she wasn't, he said: "Have a seat."

They cleared off the couch and sat down, and then Benjamin began regaling his companions with tales of the exploits of the United Space Ship _Enterprise_.


	4. Segment Three

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE GOD MACHINE**

**by Darrin Colbourne**

* * *

Two weeks before Departure Day, as ordered, _Enterprise_'s Science Department arrived at Jefferies Base to report aboard their ship. There were 24 people in all, led by the Science Officer, newly-minted Lieutenant Commander Isabel Montoya. There were seven other researcher/officers - including new Lieutenants Gwendolyn Flores and Benjamin Goren - and 16 research assistants with temporary enlisted ratings. There were a few stares as they made their way to the Eight-Ten Dock, since most people on the base had found out what was going on, but not as many stares as Montoya expected.

Each of the 24 space docks in Jefferies Base were constructed in the same manner. The entrance to Eight-Ten Dock was a massive set of pressure doors which opened onto a Departure Deck, a large open platform on the right side of the berth where crew members could greet or say goodbye to loved ones (depending, of course, on whether the ship was arriving or departing), where visiting dignitaries could sight-see in safety, etc. Near the opposite end of the platform from the pressure doors was the Gangway, the main acess tunnel that led from the platform into the ship. The pressure doors were normally kept open while the outer doors of the dock itself were closed, so once the Science Department reached the dock it was just a matter of walking onto the Departure Deck. As she did so, Montoya looked around, shifitng her gaze right and left.

When she looked left she stopped short, her gaze fixed on the berth itself, which was visible through a shield of heavy, transparent polymers. "My God." She said.

Her team gathered around her as she gawked. "There she is." Goren said.

Suspended in space inside the berth and anchored by rigid umbilicals and the gangway was the USS _Enterprise_. Even while standing still, the sweeping lines of the major structures and the sharp angles of the support struts made the _Constitution_-class starship look like she was breaking speed records.

"It's so _big_ up close." Flores said.

"Don't let that fool you." Goren said. "It's cramped enough on the inside. Most of the living and working space is in the Command Section up front, which is also packed with short-range weapons and point-defenses and the sub-light engines. The Support Section is jammed mainly with cargo and munitions, plus the big sensors and the Smallcraft Bay."

They resumed walking, but Montoya's eyes never left the ship's blue-white hull. She was especially impressed with the large Space Warp engines, which looked like long, tapered cylinders embedded in giant knife blades. "Why so many sharp edges?" She asked.

"Scanner scattering." Goren said. "The fewer broad surfaces pointed toward the enemy, the less scanner energy gets sent back to his sensors. The amount of energy the ship reflects back from the stern is directly proportional to that of a ship a fraction of her size. Makes it difficult for anyone to get in a decent backshot."

More of the general structure of the ship became visible as they walked. The big, white registry number on the side of the starboard engine caught Flores's eye. "What do the letters mean?"

"'N' is just Starfleet's general designator for a spacecraft." Goren said. "The 'CC' denotes the type, in this case a heavy cruiser."

Flores was confused. "So, it's 'Spacecraft, Heavy Cruiser Number One Thousand, Seven Hundred and One?'"

Goren smiled. "Not quite. It's actually two numbers. The seventeen means it's from the Seventeenth Heavy Cruiser class, and the 'Oh-One' is it's unit number. In plain English, 'NCC-1701' actually reads 'Space Cruiser (Heavy) Model Seventeen, Unit One.'"

Now Montoya was confused. "Wait...I thought the class was named after the first ship. Why is this a Constitution?"

"_Constitution_ was the first ship of the class and testbed for the design, so when she was commissioned she was given a 'Double-Zero' registry number, or, in essence, designated 'Unit Zero'. _Enterprise_ was the first production unit delivered to Starfleet."

With those questions answered, the group moved on in silence as more of the Support Section came into view. The most eye-catching feature was the faceted hood at the base of the Command Section Support strut that housed the torpedo launch tubes. As everyone took in the view, someone finally broke the silence. "Hey…there are no windows!"

"Hope you're not claustrophobic." Goren called back. "The designers who worked on the refit decided that windows were a liability in the design, so they took 'em out."

As they reached the gangway and stepped into it, Flores was struck by the sight of the Command Section. "It looks like a mushroom top." She said.

"It's even called 'Da 'Shroom'." Goren said with a smile. "The original design had a saucer-shaped Command Section, with a small peak above and below. It was one of the first things they got rid of when they designed the refit."

"Why?" Montoya asked.

"The Bridge was located at the top of the Upper Peak. During the war, the Klingons and Romulans got a few too many lucky hits on the 'Hood Ornament', so the Upper Peak was replaced with a short dome that covers the top of the saucer and command functions were moved to a Control Room in the center of the structure. The design is now standard in all new ship construction."

"My orders say I should report to the Captain when I get aboard. Will he be in the Control Room?"

"Not while the ship is In Port. That deck will be shut down while _Enterprise_ is on external power. Don't worry. Someone will direct you to wherever the Captain is when we get aboard."

"You're a great help to me, Ben."

"Your wish is my command."

In a short time they reached the Main Access Hatch, the wide opening in the ship at the end of the gangway. As they reached it the guard standing off to the side noticed them and immediately stood in their path. Montoya noticed his Work Color was Green. That made him Starfleet Landing Force, a 'Lander', as they preferred to be called. "'Scuse Me." He said clearly. "No Unauthorized Personnel are allowed past this point."

Montoya walked right up to him, taking in his defiant stance and the sidearm clipped to his belt. obviously he meant business…but, she _was _authorized personnel. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Isabel Montoya. My people and I are supposed to report aboard today." She handed him a 'pad as she spoke. The Lander took it, examined the displayed orders, then checked Montoya's face and uniform against the displayed ID image.

"Beg Pardon, _Sir_." He said as he handed back the 'pad. "Welcome aboard the _Enterprise_." With that he stood aside to allow the party to board and saluted.

"Return it." Goren whispered to her as they stepped aboard. It caught her by surprise and the resulting salute was haphazard, but it was enough for the Lander, who lowered his salute. He used his other hand to key the headset he was wearing.

"Main Hatch." He said. "Science Officer and Science Department reporting aboard." He stood for a moment to listen to someone, then said "Aye, Aye." and turned to Montoya. "Sir, the Duty Officer is sending someone to get your people squared away. Captain sends his compliments and you are to report to the Wardroom, ASAP."

"Wardroom? Where is that?" She said.

"Command Section, Command Deck." He turned to the passageway that led further into the ship and pointed. "Go through here, then cut right, go all the way down and then left. The turbolift will be on your right. Take it to the Command Deck, then…"

"Um…could you just _show_ me?" Montoya said, looking into the passageway and dreading having to find her way by herself.

"That's all right." Goren said. "I'll take her." Then to Montoya: "You can leave your bag here. Whoever's coming will make sure it gets to your quarters…right, Lander?"

The Lander returned to At Ease. "Yes, Sir."

Goren nodded to him and then said to Flores: "Just wait here until your guide shows up. I'll find out where they've got us situated after I get Isabel to the Wardroom."

"You got it." Flores said.

Montoya handed the Biologist her duffel bag, then she and Goren headed for the passageway and went deeper into the ship. When they were out of earshot of the Main Hatch, Montoya said: "Did I say something wrong back there?"

"He can't leave his post without relief," Goren said, "not even if you order him. You would just have ended up waiting for a guide anyway."

"Oh." She said. "Are you sure you know where you're going?"

"Well, he told us where the turbolift was." He said. "That will take us right to the Command Deck. I should be able to find my way from there."

"Oh." A pause. "Am I really getting annoying with the stupid questions?"

Goren laughed, and Montoya joined him a second later. When they recovered, he said: "Not really. I'm just glad if I remember half of it. I wouldn't want to go through _Basic_ again. Besides, like you said, you don't want to step on any mines, so you might as well ask. Here we go."

They were standing in front of the turbolift. When he saw there wasn't a car waiting, Goren pressed the call-button for it.

"Okay," Montoya said, "so why 'Sir'?"

"What?" Goren said. The lift door opened then and the two of them stepped in. Montoya spent a futile moment looking for the controls.

"The car is voice-activated. Watch…Command Deck. Now you."

Montoya looked up and said: "Command Deck."

The car began to move. Montoya was surprised when it moved sideways a few seconds before moving up with a soft hum.

"What were you saying?" Goren said.

"Why did he call me 'Sir'?"

He nodded in understanding. "It's just tradition. For a while they tried letting female officers be called 'Ma'am', but some old fart in Protocol thought that sounded silly, and he had the ear of the Chief Of Starfleet Operations, so eventually it was back to the Old Ways: All Officers are called 'Sir' or 'Mister'. No exceptions or modifications."

"And what's a 'Wardroom'?"

"That's where the Senior Officers have meals, get some R&R and hold strategy sessions. You'll be seeing a lot of it while we're underway."

The lift stopped then and opened up on the Command Deck. To Montoya the passageway looked just like the one they'd left in the Support Section, but Goren stepped out and immediately picked a direction and led off. She followed dutifully as he made his way along a few haze gray corridors. In one last corridor he slowed up and pointed. "That's it. Third door down. You should be able to just walk right in. Go on ahead. I'm figuring they converted a cargo bay to berthing for us, so I'm gonna head back to…"

"Wait! You can't leave me! You have to come in with me!"

"Oh, no, _Sir_. The one thing I _don't_ have to do is come in with you. Captain's orders were for _you_ to report to the Wardroom. He doesn't want to see me, and I want to _keep_ it that way as long as possible."

"You don't understand! I didn't make the best first impression last week. He's probably going to want to tear me apart when I go in there. You _have_ to come. Don't make me beg you." Then she had a sudden insight. "Don't make me _order_ you."

Goren looked shocked for a moment, then resigned. "I knew I'd regret this." He said with a sigh. "All right…after you, Commander."

She smiled sweetly at him as she took the lead, walking the last few steps to the Wardroom. She felt rising fear with each step. She expected a rant. A tirade. What would the Captain do to her now that he had absolute authority over her?

All too soon she was standing in front of the Wardroom door. She'd wanted to pause to brace herself, but the door slid open almost immediately. Beyond was a space about the size of a medium-sized kitchen. It was dominated by a dark, wooden table in the center, which was surrounded by eight plain chairs. There was a counter on the left with a coffeemaker and food processor, along with a few mugs with the Starfleet Emblem on them. On the right was a nice-sized wall-mounted holovision screen, but Montoya couldn't tell if it was integral ship's equipment or simply an entertainment center. Painted on the wall directly across from the door was the _Enterprise_'s Unit Emblem, which contained an image of the ship streaking through the stars. The Ship's Motto - "Going Boldly Into Harm's Way" - was inscribed on a ribbon under the image.

And sitting in the chair directly under the Emblem was Captain Christopher Pike. Their eyes met as soon as she focused on him, just as they had in the briefing. That time he'd looked like he might flirt with her. Now he was all business. _Uh-oh._

There were two other officers in the room, occupying chairs on either side of Pike. To his right sat a handsome, clean-cut Black officer. To his left, a tan, slim brunette. The other male officer was wearing Engineer's Red, while Pike and the woman wore Gold.

Montoya had been just staring into the room for at least twenty seconds before she realized it. She gathered her wits about her, stepped in and came to - it turned out to be a combination of Attention and At Ease: standing straight, feet together, hands behind her back. Goren, who was busy trying to manage standing at Attention with his own bag weighing him down, tried not to look _too _embarrassed for her.

"Commander Montoya, reporting as ordered, _Sir_!" She said, proud of what she perceived as her military bearing. She even threw in a last-second salute to sweeten the pot (and further inspire Goren to wish he were very far away).

The three Starfleet officers merely took this all in. Pike looked at each of his subordinates in turn, then back at Montoya. The other two, who'd been looking at Montoya, suddenly shared a look with each other and smiled. "You owe me Fifty, John." The woman said. "I _told_ you she'd bring help."

Montoya deflated a little at that, and the nervousness she'd been trying to hide was suddenly broadcasting loud and clear. Pike shook his head and chuckled. "Relax, Commander. Welcome aboard the _Enterprise_. I'd like you to meet my Executive Officer, Commander Mary McDonald, and my Chief Engineer, Commander John Adams." Each of the officers nodded, then Pike turned his attention to Goren. "And you're Goren, right?"

"Yes, Sir." Goren said.

Pike smiled. "You don't know how glad I was when I came across your file and realized that at least _one _of the scientists I was getting had some practical training. You left the Fleet a Crewman Two, right?"

"Yes, Sir."

"How do the silver bars feel?"

After a quick Glance at his right shoulder, Goren said: "_Awkward_, Sir."

"Well, don't worry. You'll be wearing 'em more than long enough to grow into them. Number One, would you give me a minute alone with the Commander?"

McDonald stood up. "Come on, John. We can go double-or-nothing on…that _other _thing we discussed." With that, Adams stood and the two officers started out of the room. As she got close, McDonald said: "You too, Leftenant. I'll see that you're squared away with the rest of your department."

Montoya turned her head toward Goren and was surprised to see him turn on his heel and head back into the passageway. She thought to protest, say _something_ to get him to stay, but thought better of it when McDonald passed her and she caught a glimpse of her rank patch. According to Goren's lesson on rank, McDonald's silver oak leaf beat her gold one. Her friend managed to flash her a pair of crossed fingers before the door closed.

And then she was alone with Pike. "Have a seat, Dr. Montoya." He said.

She hesitated a moment, then took the seat at the table opposite from him.

"I figure we won't have all that many chances to talk like this," he said, "so we should clear up a few things."

"Captain," Montoya said, "if this is about the other day, I just want to say I Apologize. If I'd only known what Dr. Narain and Admiral Jellico were planning, I would never have…"

"I need to know where you _stand_, Doctor."

Montoya blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"As far as Starfleet is concerned. I need to know how you feel about the service." When she hesitated, he said, "Be honest."

"Well…being honest…it's nothing personal, Captain. I just don't have any particular love for what Starfleet does."

"And I can respect that. It's not an uncommon sentiment. Personally, I have no gripes against you _or_ your profession, Doctor. But I _do _have a problem with myself or my people being judged as _martinets_ just because of the profession we've chosen."

"Again, Captain, when I said what I said…"

Pike held up his hand. "At first I had my reservations about bringing you into my crew, but eventually I came to realize that this would be an opportunity to disabuse you of a few erroneous assumptions. You're in Starfleet now, Montoya, and an officer, and as long as that's the case I intend for you to understand _perfectly_ what that really means."

He wasn't surprised when a hint of That Look appeared on her face, but to her credit she managed to huff unobtrusively. "Yes, _Sir_." She said petulantly.

Pike ignored the tone. "We have two weeks before we ship out. That's not much time to properly integrate you into the Command Staff, but we'll do our best. Heck, even actors can be trained to _act_ like officers. Leave that to Commander McDonald. No offense to Goren, but he's been an officer about as long as you have - about five minutes - and what practical experience he has doesn't qualify him to give you the proper instruction. Now, is there anything else we need to discuss?"

"I'd like to have a tour of the ship."

"McDonald will take care of that as well. You're dismissed, Commander."

And, just that abruptly, their "discussion" was at an end. She hadn't really had a chance to say anything she'd planned to. Now she wanted to stay as much as she'd been dreading the meeting before. She wanted to say her piece, but Pike had spoken and she wasn't sure of what she had to say to get him to change his mind, so she got up, nodded to him and turned to leave.

McDonald and Adams were waiting in the passageway. They were talking to each other when Montoya came out, then they turned their attention to her. "Well," McDonald said, "none the worse for it, I see."

"I suppose not." Montoya said. "Where's Benjamin?"

"With your other officers, I should think. You'll have plenty of time to see them. For now, let's get you to your quarters."

"The Captain said I should talk to you about having a tour of the ship."

"I'm afraid that will have to wait. With the crew rotating off for shore leave I have no one to spare for that right now, and I don't have the time myself…"

"Uh, Number One," Adams said, "_I_ could show her around if you want."

"Aren't you scheduled to start your leave today?"

"My ride isn't scheduled to leave the base for another hour or so, and I'm already packed. I've got time."

McDonald looked at him a little suspiciously for a moment, but decided that she really _did_ have better things to do, and if Adams felt like babysitting… "Very Well then. Commander Montoya, I leave you in ChEng's very capable hands." She flashed them both a grin then went off down the passageway.

Montoya waited until McDonald rounded the corner before she spoke. "I'm sorry, I thought Captain Pike said your name was Adams."

"It is." Adams said.

"But she just called you _Chang_."

Adams chuckled. "Actually, that's an abbreviation of my title, 'Chief Engineer'. C-h-E-n-g."

"Oh." Montoya said, flushing slightly. Then she looked down the passageway. "She probably did that on purpose."

"Most likely." Adams said. "Come on. I'll take you to your quarters."

"Why do you call her 'Number One'?" She asked as they started off.

"The Executive Officer is also known as the First Officer. Normally we'd just call her 'XO' - another abbreviation - but she prefers 'Number One'. I guess it's due to her upbringing."

"I noticed the accent. English?"

"Welsh-Irish. Don't make _that_ mistake within earshot of her. She's tetchy about it."

"I'll remember that."

"I'm detecting a faint accent myself. Where are you from?"

"Venzuela. I grew up in Caracas. You?"

"Fort Worth, Texas."

"Oh…Wasn't John Adams a U.S. President?"

"Two of 'em, actually. Him and his son. My parents are kind of nuts about Presidential History. This is it."

They stopped in front of a rather nondescript door. There was a small control panel next to it. Adams started tapping contacts. "I'm using a master keycode now," he said, "but we'll get you your own code soon enough, and when you're inside you can control access with a voice command. Y'know, 'Come in', 'Don't come in'…?

"Got it." She said.

The door slid open on a cabin barely two-thirds as big as her bedroom in Stockholm. There was a rather spare-looking bed in the far right corner, a small desk to the right of the door, and a small wardrobe to the left. Montoya noticed that her bag was resting squarely on the bed.

"There's drawer space under the bunk." Adams said as they walked in. "If you don't have a deskcomputer with you we may have one in Stores you can use. There are connections by the desk for it, so you can access ShipNet, FleetNet and WorldNet. There's also an intercom panel by the desk."

"Where does this go?" Montoya said. She was looking at a door opposite the bed.

"That's the Head." Adams said. "The bathroom. You share it with Commander McDonald. Her quarters are just beyond it."

"I'm sharing the bathroom with Number One?" She said. They both tried not to laugh.

"These quarters are usually set aside for VIPs. It's traditional for the Exec to play host in one way or another. Consider yourself lucky. In a smaller ship, you'd be sharing the same room as well. In any case, once you get used to the watch schedule it's unlikely that you'll even see her on a daily basis. Okay, I'm not going to have time to show you the _whole_ ship, but if you tell me what you're most interested in…"

"Mainly, I just want to see where my people are staying and where we'll all be working."

"First part's easy. We've got your senior officers, including Goren, in the Ops Department's officers' stateroom. That's here on Command Deck. We made up berthing for the rest of your people in the Support Section. We cleaned out a cargo bay."

"Benjamin said you'd do that."

"We're also going to have to put your lab down there. All of the space in the Command Section is dedicated."

"We need more than one lab."

"So I was told, but there's only so much cargo space we can do without. We're trying to work out some kind of all-purpose lab for you, but that will take the bulk of the next two weeks before we set out. Right now there's not much to show you besides empty space."

"Well, what _can_ you show me?"

Adams smiled. "Follow me."

* * *

Without power and with the lighting half-dimmed, the _Enterprise_'s Control Room/Attack Center seemed eerily quiet. Two different passageways on the Command Deck led directly into this space in the center of the Command Section. Adams and Montoya entered from the portside passage. "Here we go. This is where you'll spend one-fourth of your time on the ship."

Montoya looked around. The Control Room was a large, rectangular space. Directly across from the entrances was a viewscreen that took up most of the opposite wall. There were eight stand-alone control stations, three along either side and two centered a few meters from the viewscreen. All the stations were facing toward the screen. There were smaller screens mounted on the walls above the stations on the left and right. In the center of the space, looking quite lonely by comparison, was a large, cushioned, revolving chair with controls set in the armrests.

"Okay," Adams said, "The forward stations are Helm and Navigation. To your left, from aft to forward are Countermeasures, Weapons and Fire Control." Adams led Montoya to the starboard side of the room. "On the right, from aft to forward, you have Communications, Sensors and Operations." He led her to the Operations Station. "Have a seat."

Montoya looked at him, then at the control console, then sat down in the station chair. It was of typical military design: just comfortable enough to keep the back from breaking during long stretches. The console itself was a nonstandard workstation. There was one large display screen flanked by two smaller ones and host of digital readout displays. The large screen was bordered with a series of small contacts marked with abbreviations Montoya couldn't guess the meaning of. The short desk under the screens sported a standard English keyboard, a trackpoint pad and another small cluster of contacts marked with abbreviations.

"From here you have access to data from all of the ship's information gathering technology; Sensors, Scanners, Off-board probes. You can also exercise direct control over them when necessary, so you don't have to give targeting commands to the Sensor station and wait for what you want to be done second-hand. We figure this will help you with long-range planet surveys. That screen above you" - he pointed to the wall screen above the station - "repeats everything on your center multifunction display, so that the Captain or Watch Officer can see what you see from the center seat."

"I hope you don't expect me to figure this out by trial and error." Montoya said.

"'Course not." Adams said. "We'll give you as much training as we can over the next couple of weeks."

"What did you mean when you said I'd spend a fourth of my time here?"

"_Enterprise_ operates 24 hours a day. There are four watches - shifts - of six hours. You stand watches four-hours-on, two-off, meaning for _at least_ four hours out of the six, your butt has to be in your chair at your station. The rest of the time is for crew rest; meals, bathroom breaks, etc. If you're the Watch Officer, you can use the Watch Officer's Ready Room for that." He pointed to a door on the left of the main viewscreen.

"And that one?" Montoya said, pointing to the door on the right of the screen.

"Captain's Ready Room. Only he uses that."

"Okay. So, I'm going to be a Watch Officer as well?"

"You're replacing the Operations Officer, so you take over his duties. You take the third watch. We call it Midwatch. 2200 to 0400 hours - that's 10 PM to 4 AM."

"That much I get." Montoya said. "So which watch do you take?"

"I stand the Forenoon Watch with the Captain, 1000 to 1600."

"So you don't get to sit in the center seat?"

"Not usually. Just when the normal watch officers are unavailable. I stand watch in the Engineering Section."

"Where's that?"

Adams pointed aft. Montoya looked and saw another part of the Control Room not visible from the entrances. A large opening in the center of the aft wall opened on another darkened room.

Montoya got up and Adams led her into the Section. Installed in the wall to starboard was a bank of four workstations, each one with a small screen in the center. The rest of the wall was taken up by a huge master display.

"Damage Control, Propulsion and Power, Structural Integrity and Systems." Adams said, pointing to each workstation in turn. "Engineering Watch Officer stands behind the stations and watches the whole picture, coordinates damage control efforts, the standard stuff. When you're on watch, one of my senior officers will be on watch in here, and he or she will be able to tell you instantly if there's a problem with the ship."

Montoya nodded absently, then turned and walked slowly out of the section. She stopped walking when she was behind the center chair. She was lost in thought.

"What's wrong?" Adams said.

"I was deluding myself." Montoya said without turning. "I thought it would be just like at Daedalus." Then she turned. "Whenever I went out on a research ship, there was a clear division of responsibility. The captain would be responsible for the ship and its crew, I would be responsible for the scientists and the research. It was a _partnership_, one where we each handled our own responsibilities and didn't involve ourselves in the other's. I let myself think that's what it would be like this time."

"Well, it might have been if this were a normal Starfleet-sponsored research stint. A couple of weeks or so in deep space…we're going to be out _five years_. There _has_ to be a single chain of command in a situation like that. It just makes sense."

"Maybe…but doesn't it make sense that I be higher up in that chain since it _is_ a scientific endeavor? Shouldn't I be First Officer at least, or have equal status with her?"

Adams gave her a confused look, then held back a chuckle, then erupted in a laughing fit that lasted about fifteen seconds, as he recovered, he said: "Listen…don't let Number One hear you say _that_ either. I like you. I don't want to see you go out an airlock." With that he motioned her to follow him and led her out of Control through the portside exit.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the door of the Ops Officers' Stateroom chimed. "Come in!" Gwendolyn Flores called out.

The door slid open to reveal Isabel Montoya and John Adams. "Thank you." Montoya said to him.

"No problem. I'll see you later ." Adams said, then left her at the door.

Montoya took a moment to look at the room. It was the size of her stateroom, but here there were four beds mounted in the right wall, in two stacks of two. There were two small desks along the left wall, and the door to the head was just inside and to the left of the front door. Benjamin Goren was sitting in one of the desk chairs. Flores was leaning against the wall near the bunks. "They put four of you in _here_?" Montoya said, incredulous.

"Yep," Benjamin Goren said. "Me, Wendy, Jim and Constance."

"I'm sharing a room and bathroom with three other people." Flores muttered. "It's like college…only everything's _gray_."

"I consider this a step up. Enlisteds are quartered 16 to a stateroom…which means all our research assistants can be found in one spot now, By The Way."

"I know," Montoya said as she stepped in and the door closed. "Commander Adams took me to see their quarters in the Support Section, along with the big empty space where our labs are supposed to be."

"I guess you did all right after I left." Goren said.

"You certainly _did_." Flores said with a smile. "Who's the hottie?"

"That was Commander Adams, the Chief Engineer." Montoya said.

"Don't even think about it." Goren said to Flores. "You're a _Lieutenant_. That's Unlawful Fraternization."

"Well, what're they gonna do, kick me outta Starfleet?"

"Uh…_yeah_. And in this case that means No Project For You."

"Oh. Well, it's not unlawful for _Belle,_ is it?" She turned to Montoya. "Are your quarters near his?"

"Actually, they're closer to the First Officer's."

"Talk about hotties…" Goren muttered.

"Hey!" Flores said. "How come you can think about it but I can't?"

"What're they gonna do, kick me outta Starfleet?"

"Yes!"

"Good! I'd leave happily! Project Be Damned!"

Montoya smiled. "Well, don't get your hopes up, Ben. From what I've seen of her she's probably the type that sleeps with her regulation book."

"Ah, that's just Her Job. I can still dream."

They all chuckled a little at that, then quieted down as Montoya avoided their gazes. When she lifted her head back up, she was dead serious. "Is either of you having second thoughts?"

"Are _you_, boss?" Goren said.

"I just think I'm taking on more than I can handle. I won't be able to just do my research. I'll have just as much administrative work and outside responsibilities as anything else. I…thought it would be different."

"You mean like the old days when the captain handled all the piddling little details involved with keeping everybody alive and working and you were free to think Big Thoughts and concentrate on The BIG Theory?"

"Actually...yes."

"Join Starfleet, see _Real Life_. Welcome to reality, Commander."

"Yeah, Belle. I mean, you said yourself this was voluntary. We all signed up because we thought the ultimate goal was worth it. We can't just back out ten minutes after we board the ship."

There was a moment of silence, then Montoya said: "I guess we can't, can we?"

Flores and Goren shook their heads. With that, Montoya went to sit in the other desk chair.

"Then I guess we should talk about how we're going to do things around here." The Science Oficer said, and she and her senior staff began hashing out a research program.


	5. Segment Four

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE GOD MACHINE**

**by Darrin Colbourne**

* * *

Departure Day was normally a raucus affair. Most families usually made the trek into orbit to see their loved ones off, even if they'd already said their goodbyes on Earth. One could always count on a few last-minute replacements to report aboard, adding more family members to the crowd. Invariably, there would be one or two "Failed-to-Reports", crewmen who, for one reason or another, were slow getting back from official leave. Usually _these_ latecomers would arrive at their ships accompanied by "Starfleet's Finest" in the Shore Patrol. Sprinkle in the odd representative of the Top Brass and a politician or two and this D-Day might have been no different from any other. 

Yet there _were_ differences, the main one being that, rather than being the usual non-event that the deployment of ships in peacetime amounted to, the embarkation of Deep Reconnaisance Group One on Project: Away was a worldwide media event. Starfleet's participation in the Space Probe Agency's first real space probe was big news, and Public Affairs people in both organizations had gone to great lengths to play up the positive aspects of this historic collaboration. That meant that every dock in Jefferies Base with a _Constitution_-class ship in it was flanked by a Departure Deck that sported - aside from the usual spectators - dozens of reporters from various media outlets from around the world, A Who's Who of Fleet Brass, past and present, _at least_ one member of the Legislative Committees that funded and/or oversaw both organizations, and so many plain old looky-loos that Base Security had to start turning people away at the pressure doors.

Thus it was that one of the last-minute replacements, Dr. Philip Boyce, found himself saying his goodbyes to his wife Joanne in the middle of a media circus. "I did try to warn you it would be like this." He said, looking down at the woman in his arms. "We probably should have done this at home."

"Nonsense!" Joanne said. "I've seen you off from the dock every time you've shipped out since we were married, and I'm not going to miss this time. And I'll be waiting right here for you when you get back."

"This time I'll be gone five years."

"Last time you were gone _seven_, and Klingons and Romulans were shooting at your ships. I think I can manage this trip."

"What would I ever do without you?"

"Take up with some hussy and lead a life of shallow hedonism."

Boyce looked up. "Wow. You always make that sound _so_ appealing."

Joanne swatted him, and they both laughed, then they kissed a long kiss, one almost as passionate as their first kiss so many years ago. When they broke, they gave each other one last hug. "I have to go." Boyce said.

"Remember…right here." Joanne said.

"I'll remember." He said, then they moved apart so Boyce could grab his bag. A last quick kiss, then Boyce made his way through the crowd to the gangway. There was now a guard at the dock end as well. Boyce showed the Lander his orders and the man let him pass, radioing the Lander in the Main Hatch that he was coming. That Lander stood aside as well. With a full complement in the ship, the Duty Officer was in the hatch with the Lander. "Welcome aboard, Doctor." He said. "Captain's compliments, and your presence is requested in his quarters as soon as you're squared away."

"Very Well. I assume my quarters are off Sick Bay, as usual?"

"Yes, Sir. Some things never change."

"They sure don't. All right, then. I just need directions to Sick Bay."

The Duty Officer gave him the proper directions and a few minutes later he found himself on the Life-Support Deck in the Command Section. It was a quick trip to Sick Bay, a fifteen-bed, fully equipped medical facility that Boyce _hoped_ would see nothing more serious than the occasional stomach-ache or imitation of same over the course of the cruise. When he walked in to check the place over he was surprised to see someone sitting on one of the beds. It was a young woman, who looked to be about five-five, was athletic, light-skinned and raven-haired, and she was wearing a Work Blue uniform. She seemed to be bored sitting there, but immediately perked up when he walked into the space. "Hi." She said with a smile.

"Hi." Boyce said, and he wondered for a fleeting moment what a life of shallow hedonism might actually be like. "Um…Doctor, Corpsman or Patient?"

"None of the Above." She said as she slid off the bed. "I'm not a _Medical_ Doctor, anyway. My Ph. D.'s in Exobiology." She came over and offered her hand. "I'm Gwendolyn Flores."

He nodded as they shook hands. "You're one of the _scientists_." He said.

"Guilty." She said as they broke apart. "And you're a _Commander_." She added as she noticed his rank insignia. "I guess I should have saluted."

"You're forgiven." He said with a chuckle. "There won't be any saluting once we depart, anyway. We don't do that while we're in space. And I prefer 'Doctor' to 'Sir', by the way."

"I'll remember that, Doctor." She said. He nodded, then went on with his examination of Sick Bay.

"So," he said as he walked around, "If you're an _Exo_biologist and you're not sick, what brings you to a place used to treat sick human beings?"

"Commander McDonald's idea." Flores grumped. "It's my Departure Station."

Boyce turned to her. "Really?"

"It's the same as my Battle Station."

Boyce smiled. "I remember how it works. I mean, why is this _either_ station for you?"

"When Number One was assigning us Battle Stations she said I'd be of the most use here because of my specialty."

"Okay…so why are you in here _now_? We don't actually depart for another half-hour."

"True, but since there's actually nothing else for me to _do_ for that half-hour, I figured I might as well spend it here."

"Ah. So where's the rest of my staff?"

"Oh. Dr. Fishburn and your Corpsmen are in the Support Section checking on the medical stockpiles."

"Of _course_. I was just there. So this is your Battle Station, huh? How much do you remember about good old _human_ biology?"

"Thigh bone's connected to the hipbone, right?"

Boyce chuckled. "You'll do. You can get back up on the bed if you want. I'm just going to drop my stuff off in my stateroom and then go see the Captain."

"Okay." She said as he headed out of the Bay. "I'll just wait right here…"

* * *

"Chris, I'm gonna break your neck!" Boyce said as the door to the Captain's quarters slid open. There was someone else in there with him, a tall, muscular, blonde Master Chief Petty Officer in Work Gold. The two men recognized each other immediately.

"You were right, Cap'n." The Master Chief said. "He _is_ glad to see you."

Boyce grinned. "Rob! How are you doing?" He said as he came in to shake the man's hand.

"Just fine, Doc." MCPO Robert Garrison said, a grin on his own face.

As they shook, Boyce said: "Don't tell me Chris corralled you into this _snipe hunt_ too…"

"No, Sir. Not 'corralled'. I've been CMC aboard _Enterprise_ for a while now." Garrison was the Command Master Chief, the ship's Most Senior Enlisted Man.

"Good for you. How're Kyla and the girls?"

"They're all fine. Janet's gone out for the school softball team."

"Hah! Her mother's looks _and_ athletic! She's probably turning into a real heartbreaker."

"Don't remind me. There was this one kid…"

"'Scuse me!" Pike said. "Remember me? The Captain? These are my quarters?"

"I remember you, Chris!" Boyce said. "You're the guy who _wrecked my retirement_."

"Hey, if you didn't want to be called back, you should have gone whole hog and not just switched to the Reserves."

"When I did that I didn't expect to _be_ called back unless the Klingons were invading! I _certainly_ didn't think I'd be reactivated for a glorified Science Fair project!"

"Doc, would you let me explain?" When Boyce calmed down: "It's _because_ of that 'Science Fair project' that I need you. I have no idea what kind of crap we're going to be facing on this cruise, and back in the war you were the best Emergency Surgeon we had. You're just lucky I thought of recalling you first! Everybody in the Squadron wanted you!"

"Chris, there are _plenty_ of talented doctors in the Medical Corps…"

"Yes there are, but none of them are _you_. You gotta help me out here, Doc. I got a ship full of scientists playing 'officer' who aren't happy campers and I need a sheepskin on _my side_. That's why you're here."

Boyce thought about it for a minute. "Sure, play to my ego…" he muttered. The other men laughed.

"It won't be that bad, Doc." Garrison said. "A few of the scientists aren't that hard on the eyes."

"Word has it that Number One might finally face some serious competition for her Miss Enterprise crown." Pike said.

"I'm surprised she hasn't kicked your butt yet for starting that." Boyce said.

"Oh, she almost _did_ the first year. I convinced her that it would help with crew morale, and I was right. Last year she happily dusted her competition - for the good of the crew, of course."

"Oh, of _course._" Boyce said. He snapped his fingers. "That reminds me. I found one of them in Sick Bay when I settled in."

"Had to be Lt. Flores." Garrison said.

"That was her - and she _is_ easy on the eyes, by the way, but I noticed something odd when I looked at her Uniform shirt."

"What was that?" Pike said.

"Her Service Patch."

Garrison barely suppressed a chuckle. Pike just lowered his head and shook it.

"Well, am I nuts, or have I been gone so long they changed the Starfleet Insignia?"

Pike straightened up and tapped his Service Insignia. "Nope, same old Star, Globe and Crossed Anchors."

"Okay, so what was that on her chest? It looked like someone carved an arrowhead out of a Communion wafer."

This made Garrison laugh harder. "Good one, Doc! I hadn't heard that one yet!"

Pike was more subdued. "The Space Probe Agency decided that its people should have their own Service Patch, so they came up with…that."

"Well, what's it supposed to be?"

"You're gonna love this!" Garrison said, then he cleared his throat. "It's a stylized representation of the mathematical relationship between the power used in the creation of Warped space and the amount of warping that actually takes place."

It took Boyce a moment to digest that. "So, in other words, they made a Service Patch out of a _function_?"

"Imaginative, huh?" Pike said as Garrison laughed. "Nothing says 'Science Officer' like a Cochrane Delta."

Boyce just shook his head. "Oh, it's gonna be a long, strange trip."

"It is, indeed. Welcome to the Science Fair, Doctor Boyce."

* * *

Five minutes before Departure Time, Number One's voice sounded clearly over the Intercraft speakers. "Now Hear This: All Hands to Departure Stations! All Hands to Departure Stations! This is not a drill!" 

"Ugh!" Flores said. She was already in Sick Bay, standing by Dr. Boyce. "Do you know how many times you have to _drill_ for the phrase 'This is not a drill' to have any meaning?" She was recalling the last two weeks under McDonald's tutelage.

"I know all too well, My Dear." Boyce said, then he started to get the department organized.

* * *

"Relax, Lieutenant." Garrison told Goren as the latter came trotting into Main Damage Control. "We're covered." 

"Force of habit, I guess." Goren said.

"I see that. Look, Lieutenant, as of two minutes ago, training is officially _over_. Number One doesn't have time to look over your shoulder so don't kill yourself getting here. As long as you're in the space when we call 'Ready', you're all right. There's just a hard way and a _smart_ way of getting here, is all. The more you do it, the smarter you'll get."

"You're right. I'm probably just a little over-eager. I want to be able to contribute, Y'know? Pull my own weight. I used to be in this for real."

Garrison glanced at Goren, then went back to his status board. "Yes, Sir. We all know you used to _work_ for a living."

There was general laughter in the room at that. Main Damage Control was the domain of the Ship's Master Chiefs and Senior Chiefs. When the laughter died down, Garrison said: "If you want, we can get you back to where you're doing honest work again later. For now, just don't break yourself getting here, okay?"

"Aye, Aye, Master Chief." Goren said, a little dejected. Not only was he the only officer in a room full of NCO's, he was the only Blue Shirt in a room full of Reds and Golds. _That's what I get for re-upping_, he thought.

* * *

Each station in the now powered-up Control Room sounded off. "Countermeasures Ready!" 

"Weapons Ready!"

"Fire Control Ready!"

"Navigation Ready!"

"Communications Ready!"

"Sensors Ready!"

"Science Ready!" Montoya instantly regretted how incongruous her ready call sounded, just as she had every time they'd done this particular drill, but McDonald had been adamant: There was no "Operations" section anymore, and the sooner _everyone_ got used to that, the better.

After listening to those reports and the reports from the other sections, Number One turned to Pike and said: "Sir, the ship is ready in all respects."

"Very Well." Pike said. "Commence Engine Startup!"

Now it was Adams's turn. "Commence Engine Startup, Aye! Propulsion Officer, commence startup."

"Commence Startup, Aye." The Propulsion/Power Officer said. "Starting Number One Engine…Energizers to 'Standby'…Energizers spinning up, Starting Number Two Engine…Energizers to 'Standby'…Energizers spinning up…Number One Engine at full Power…Number Two Engine at full power."

"Switch to internal power," Adams said, "and Commence Sub-light Engine Startup."

"Switching to internal power; Commencing Sub-light Engine Startup: Ignitors to 'Standby'…fueling…ignition! Number One is hot…Number Two is hot…Specific Impulses at propulsion levels."

Adams turned to the Center Seat and said clearly: "Conn, Engineering. Engines are up and running. Maximum Sub-light speed available is one-third _c_."

"Very Well." Pike said. "Clear moorings, and tell the base we are ready to launch."

* * *

In the Jefferies Base Control Center, the Launch Control Officer - a Lieutenant in Gold - listened to the ships announce their readiness, then gave the order. "Retract umbilicals and open the outer doors, 8-3 through 8-14." 

Two technicians repeated the orders as they carried them out, retracting the fuel hoses, power shunts, docking clamps and gangways and opening the space doors in docks Eight-Three through Eight-Fourteen, the 12 docks with _Constitutions_ in them.

Dr. Narain and Admiral Jellico were watching the launch in the Control Center. The scientist was having a wonderful time. "It's amazing!" She said. "I've never seen so many ships start at once! How do they synchronize with each other?"

"Professionalism." Jellico said with a smile. He checked his watch. "Would you like to give the order?"

"Could I?" Narain said.

"Just tell the Lieutenant to Launch the Squadron." He said.

Narain smiled, turned to the Launch Control Officer and said: "Launch the Squadron."

The Officer smiled back. "Launch the Squadron, Aye." Then to a technician: "Send to all ships, 8-3 through 8-14, 'You are _Go_ for launch.'"

The technician repeated the order as she keyed the appropriate Shore-to-Ship circuits, then said: "Deep Recon Group One, you are _Go_ for Launch. Say again, you are _Go_ for Launch. Sortie your ships."

* * *

"Helm, Ahead Creep." Pike said. 

"Ahead Creep, Aye." Number One said from the Helm Station. She'd spent the past minute or so adjusting her grip on the Attitude Control Stick and Sub-light Engine Throttles. Now she gave the Throttles the slightest flick of her left wrist, goosing the engines enough to push the _Enterprise_ out of the berth.

* * *

There were cheers and whistles on the Departure Deck of the Eight-Ten Dock as the _Enterprise_'s Sub-light engines flared for the briefest of moments and the great ship slipped through the outer doors. 

There was a better view from the outside. Hundreds of personal spacecraft were in Earth Orbit just outside the restricted space around Jefferies Base. In them, scores of enthusiasts with imagers and zoom lenses got a once-in-a-lifetime view of a squadron deployment. It was even rarer to see a squadron composed of twelve ships of the same class, so it was special treat to see _Enterprise, Yorktown, Lexington, Saratoga, Constellation, Hornet, Independence, Ranger, Kitty Hawk, Princeton, Wasp_ and _Concorde_ emerge from their berths simultaneously.

Captain Ortiz's husband had brought their 9-year-old son up to see Mommy's ship depart. As the boy watched all the ships through the imager lens, Dad said: "Now watch closely. Once they get clear of the station, they'll turn every which way and fly off really fast and they'll pick up their attack ships and shuttles."

* * *

"Set course for first AOR, Ahead Standard." Pike said. 

"Set course for first AOR, Aye." The Navigator said. "Course plotted and laid in."

"Coming to new course, Ahead Standard." Number One said as she adjusted the ship's attitude in space and pushed the Sub-light Throttles forward. After a moment: "Helm answers Ahead Standard. Deflectors Full Intensity."

The last was an order to the Countermeasures Officer, who acknowledged and amped the ship's navigation deflectors to full power as the _Enterprise_ gained speed.

"Send to Flight Ops." Pike said to the Communications Officer. "Open Flight Bay doors and prepare to recover support craft."

* * *

In space, the spectators watched as the ships fanned out and streaked away in different directions, followed by a host of smaller, faster streaks. These were the ships of the 59th Tactical Support Squadron - the "Outriders" - and the 38th Logistics Support Squadron - the "Trash-Haulers" - staging out of another base in orbit. The 24 Cavalier Combat Support Craft and 36 Workhorse Logistics Support Craft divided into groups of 2 Cavaliers and 3 Workhorses and rendezvoused with their assigned ships. Once aboard, the senior Cavalier pilots would serve as the ships' Smallcraft Group Commanders. This was always the most exciting thing to see when a squadron deployed, so the Ortizes and the others in the audience were enjoying the show.

* * *

There were other spectators no one knew about. Running cloaked and riding high above the ecliptic plane was a Klingon Bird-of-Prey type scout craft. Its long-range sensors were trained on the third planet from the Sun, taking in as much of the deployment as possible without using active scanning. The craft's commanding officer, Commander Kang, knew that once the Humans collected their smallcraft, their ships would go to Warp, and the Empire would have to rely on other intelligence sources to find out where they'd gone. At best, Kang would only be able to tell his superiors the ships' courses as they went to two-thirds Sub-light speed. 

Kang mused over the situation. Normally, observation missions in the Solar System during the cease-fire (there was no word in the Klingon language for "peacetime") were routine affairs, and he'd expected to be bored for most of the time his vessel was stationed there. That was before Starfleet had recalled the _Constitutions_ and their monitoring of civilian communications had elicited a surfeit of information about some exploration mission of some kind. Kang suspected the publicity was simply a cover for a more serious mission. Perhaps the ships were trying to find a way to flank the Empire in advance of a resumption of hostilities. Who knew? All he knew was that once the ships warped out of the system, they were no longer his problem.

"We'll stand down from Action Stations when the Humans commit." He said to his First Officer.

* * *

"All ships recovered." The Communications Officer said. "Flight Bay doors are closed." 

"Rig ship for Warp." Pike said.

"All Decks, prepare for Space Warp!" Number One said over the Intercraft.

Montoya glanced over at McDonald as the ready reports came in. It was the first time she'd felt real fear. At the end of the Warp - it would feel like only a few seconds had passed - they would be in the first Area Of Responsibility, the first system on her assignment list. Then the Common Man project would have begun in earnest, and that little part of it would be _her_ responsibility, without any real-time communication with Dr. Narain. She couldn't depend on her mentor for moral support. Suddenly she felt truly alone. She hoped she would get over it once she started working, but what if she _never_ did? What use would she be then?

"All Decks report Ready." Number One said, and the time for doubt was over.

"Engage!" Pike said.

Number One switched her left hand from the Sub-light Throttles to the smaller Warp Throttle, which she pushed to the stops. As she did so the Main Engines powered up their Warp Driver Assemblies. In seconds the space directly in front of the ship shimmered and then collapsed in on itself, creating a gravity field that drew the ship right into it. From the perspective of the spectators in space, _Enterprise_ and her sisters winked out of existence.

Project: Away had begun with a bang.


	6. Teaser Two

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE GOD MACHINE**

**by Darrin Colbourne**

* * *

The USS _Enterprise_ emerged from a textbook Space Warp traveling at Full Sub-light Speed. Number One reversed the Sub-light Engines and throttled them up to slow the ship to "Standard" while Commander Adams and his officers did a quick check of the ship's systems to make sure there was no damage in transit. Neither senior officer expected anything untoward, so they were duly surprised when Captain Christopher Pike said his next words:

"Where the hell is the system?"

Number One glanced back at him. He was looking at the main viewscreen. She understood what was wrong when she followed suit. Had the ship reentered normal space where it was supposed to there would have been one large, bright star outshining the others on the screen. That would be the target star. Instead, there was a typical starfield.

She turned to the Navigator, who was already trying to figure out where they were. "Sir," he said, "we overshot the system."

"Say again?" Pike said.

"We reentered normal space three light-years _beyond_ the AOR."

Pike turned to Adams. "Engineering?"

"We just finished diagnostics." Adams said. "The Main Engines and Navigation system are functioning normally. That shouldn't have happened."

Pike turned back to the screen. "Let's try that again."

"Laying in course." The Navigator said.

Number One keyed her Intercraft control. "All Decks prepare for Space Warp."

"Engage when ready." Pike said.

Number One made the proper course correction and throttled the Warp Engines. This time the trip seemed to take only a split-second. They reentered normal space without incident, except -

"It happened again, Sir." The Navigator said. "We reentered three light-years away."

"I see that." Pike said. Again, there was no bright star on the screen. "ChEng…"

"It's _not _the Machinery, Captain." Adams said. "The Engines and NavCom are doing what they're supposed to do."

"Except they keep _missing_ the target." Pike protested.

Adams frowned. "Give me one to go over the flight data." He said.

As Adams worked, Pike turned to his Science Officer. "Well, what do _you_ think is going on?"

It took Montoya a minute before she realized he was talking to her. She'd been staring intently at her monitors, trying to interpret the data she was seeing. She was flustered when she answered. "I-I don't know."

"Take a guess. If ChEng is right about the engines working and the NavCom working, what could cause us to miss the system by three light-years?"

"Well, only some sort of power surge in the engines, I suppose. You see, the main purpose of the Warp Drivers is to draw enough energy to themselves to open a string between…"

Pike huffed. "I _know_ how a Warp Engine works, Commander."

"Sorry." Montoya said, chastened. "At some point during transit the engines must have drawn more energy than necessary, and only a power surge could make them do that. If Commander Adams is right about the engines, then the only logical conclusion is that the extra power came from somewhere else."

"That's the _only_ logical conclusion?" Pike said.

"Yes, Sir." Montoya said.

"She may be right, Sir." Adams said as he walked out of Engineering and into Control. "According to the flight data, each time we tried to reach the AOR the engines were given an energy boost, enough to extend the Warp Jump by about three light-years. Now, the energizers were functioning at normal levels and no one hit the wrong control or anything, so wherever the extra juice came from, the source has to be external."

"Okay," Pike said, "so where is this external power source?"

He was asking Montoya again, and again she had no answer. "I…need time to study the data. We may have to try another Space Warp to…"

"What's to study? It's only happening when we try to get to the one system, right?"

"We don't know that yet. That's why we need to…"

"Okay, let me put it this way: It's happened every time we try to go to that particular system, right?"

"Yes, that's true."

"And the engines are getting the same boost each time, enough for three light-years, right?"

"Again, true."

"Then doesn't it stand to reason that there's some intelligence behind it, one with the technology to make it happen and a desire that we _not_ get into that system?"

"That's a conclusion I'm not ready to support. As I said, I need more data."

"Then let's get you more data. One more time, people."

Number One sighed as she keyed Intercraft. "All Decks prepare for Space Warp." She announced as she made the new course correction. She jumped the ship again.

A moment later: "Same story, Captain." The Navigator said.

"Bring us about." Pike said. "Sensors, report all contacts."

The Sensor Officer worked his controls for a minute. "Sir, the area is clear of traffic out to four light-years. No Warp or Sub-light contacts. Reading only the major bodies of the system 3 light-years off our bow."

Pike turned to Montoya. "Do you have enough data _now_?"

Montoya was slightly exasperated. "Captain, there's no way to know for sure what's happening until I can see it happen for myself and record and analyze the event. The problem is there's no way for me to do that because the event is occurring _during_ the Warp Jump, when the ship's sensors are blind to normal space. The best I could give you is a guess."

"A guess is all I asked for, Commander."

"With all due respect, Captain, that's not how I work. It's unscientific."

"Maybe, but as you yourself just implied, being 'scientific' isn't giving you the answers we want, is it?"

"Eventually it will, and answers are better than _assumptions_."

"Not if waiting for them means we have to sit and dangle outside of our Area Of Responsibility indefinitely. In case you've forgotten, we're on a mission here. _Your_ mission."

"I haven't forgotten, Captain."

"Then for the sake of that mission, I'd say a few assumptions were in order. Wouldn't you?"

Her first instinct was to say "No". Instead she said: "Assumptions can be wrong."

"So can _answers_." Pike said. "I say we go for what we can get now and worry about verification later." And, of course, his say was _final_. He turned to his Executive Officer. "Number One, what's your take on all this?"

It was as if she'd been waiting for a cue. "ChEng, Navigator, send your data to my station." She said. After they complied she said "One moment, Sir," and began manipulating the data on one of her multifunction displays. She paused a couple of times to look at what she was developing, but in all it had taken her maybe two minutes. When she had what she wanted she changed the display on the main screen from a forward starfield to a tactical display of the target system.

She turned to Pike. "We've already made a few assumptions. One, the power surges we're experiencing during Warp Transit are due to some outside influence, and Two, that influence is _intelligent_, and therefore intentionally trying to thwart our entry into the system. So let's make another assumption: Suppose we're near the end of our transit every time the outside influence acts on our engines, say a picosecond before we reenter?" She turned back to her station and pressed some more controls. As she did, three waypoint icons appeared around the system map. They changed color from white to green as she indicated them. "Our first transit we would have been here, from the perspective of an observer in normal space. The second time we would have been here, and the third time here." She touched another control, and an arbitrary orbit around the system was highlighted. The three icons were all roughly positioned on the ellipse.

She turned back to Pike. "Now let's assume that whatever's doing this is somewhere inside that orbit, on or near one of the bodies of the system. It's a valid assumption, certainly. Our sensors have detected nothing _outside_ the system that might be doing it. At any rate, if it's true that tells us either one of two things about the orbit: it's either the effective range of the device being used on us, or it's the arbitrary boundary the intelligence behind the device has established. A 'No-Fly Zone' for Warp ships, as it were."

"And assuming all that's true," Pike said, "how does it help us?"

"That orbit is just outside the ragged edges of the system, in cosmic terms. If we could get to a point just beyond _it_ with a Warp Jump, we could use the Sub-light engines to get to the system proper. Granted, it would be a long cruise, a little under a month perhaps, but we'd be there nonetheless."

"What if whatever's goosing our Warp Engines does the same thing to our Sub-light ones?"

"There's only so far that you can 'goose' a Sub-light engine without damaging the ship it's in, and whoever's doing this has so far gone out of their way to simply detour us. At any rate, if we go in at Sub-light we may escape their notice."

Adams, who'd been listening in, piped up. "They'll notice we tried at least one more Warp."

"True, but if we stop before we reach their boundary, we may convince them that we've gotten the message and will make our observations from long range…or, that we're willing to come in the hard way. Perhaps they respect arduous journeys or something."

Pike took a minute to let it all sink in, nodded his head and said: "It's worth a try."

"Wait!" Montoya said. "All of _that_" - she indicated the main screen - "is absolute _conjecture_! It's little better than a thought experiment! Commander McDonald could be completely wrong, and we have no idea of the consequences we'll face if she is!"

With that, Number One turned to the Science Officer, shrugged her shoulders and said: "All true. It's nothing more than my best guess…but, Commander, as the Captain said, a guess is all he wanted." She said the last with as smug a smile as she could manage.

Montoya didn't have time to seethe. "Let me ask you this, Commander." Pike said, "Should we move on?"

She was taken aback by the question. "Excuse Me?"

"The only reason we're even in this fix right now is because there's supposed to be a planet in there that's the first stop on _your_ survey list. We obviously can't get to it the conventional way. Number One has offered an unconventional method that might work, but if you won't sign off on it, then I'm perfectly happy to mark this system 'Unreachable' and move on to the next stop on the list. My question is, Is that what you want me to do?"

Pike, Number One and Adams were all looking at her now, waiting for an answer. She didn't know what to say. All her education told her she was right to question McDonald's thought process, but a nagging little voice kept telling her that, slight as the chances may be, the Executive Officer might be _right_, and if she were…

"We have to enter the system." Montoya said. "If there's an intelligence doing all this, and it's in there…we have to enter."

"Very Well." Pike said as McDonald and Adams returned to their posts. The Captain returned his attention to the screen and said: "Carry On, Number One."

She returned the screen to normal and told the Navigator: "Set a new course for the AOR and add a reentry waypoint just outside the boundary."

The Navigator acknowledged and went to work. "Course laid in." He said a moment later.

Number One keyed Intercraft. "All Right, People. One last time." A moment later she throttled the Warp Engines. A second after that the ship reentered normal space.

The Navigator smiled. "That's done it, Number One. We're right where we're supposed to be."

Pike looked at the screen. The target star still wasn't as bright as it should have been, but it was bright_er_, and ahead of the ship. "That's another Commendation Letter in your jacket, Number One. Nice job. Resume Course, Ahead Full."

"Ahead Full, Aye, Sir." Number One was grinning as she acknowledged. She throttled the Sub-light engines to full power as she gave the command: "Deflectors, Full Intensity." A moment later: "Sir, the ship is at Full Sub-light speed."

"Stop Engines." Pike said.

"Stop Engines, Aye…Sub-light Engines to 'Standby'. Sir Isaac is driving." The _Enterprise_ was now coasting through space toward her destination at one-third light-speed.

"Very Well." Pike said. He rubbed his eyes. "Stand Down from Departure Stations. Let's get a normal Dawn Watch going in Control. ChEng, I want a detailed report on the status of the main engines ASAP, and I want to see the Senior Staff in the Wardroom in fifteen minutes." With that he stood up from the command chair, signaling the activity characteristic of a Watch Change.

This time the Communications Officer handled the Intercraft announcements. "Now Hear This: All Hands, Stand Down from Departure Stations. All Hands, Stand Down from Departure stations. Set Dawn Watch in Control. Department Heads, report to Wardroom in fifteen minutes."

Montoya was oblivious to it all. She'd been incensed at the adulation Number One had received for guessing right, as illogical as it seemed for her to be. She tried to subdue the feeling by focusing on her instruments, so she paid no attention to the watch change until a Crewman in Gold tapped her on the shoulder and startled her out of her reverie. "I relieve you, Sir." He said.

She looked around. The Captain was gone, along with most of the Officers she'd come into Control with when 'Departure Stations' was first sounded. Only Number One was still there, standing near the portside passageway. She seemed to be waiting for Montoya to join her…and she didn't look pleased.

Staying as calm as she could, Montoya stood up and relinquished her station to the Crewman, then walked over to where Number One was standing. She was going to say something, but the Exec stopped her. "Not now. My quarters."

Montoya followed dutifully as Number One led her into the port passageway and through the corridors to her stateroom. As they walked, Montoya checked her watch. It hadn't even been twenty minutes into the mission, and she was already heading for the Principal's Office.

It was then when she realized how long five years might actually be.


	7. Segment Five

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE GOD MACHINE**

**by Darrin Colbourne**

* * *

"What am I even doing here if the entire mission will be conducted based on what _you_ sense when you lick your finger and stick it up in the air?" Montoya asked Number One. They were in McDonald's quarters. McDonald was sitting on her bunk while Montoya paced around what free floor space was available.

"You're the Science Officer." McDonald said. "You're here to set the agenda for our survey. The only reason I had to 'stick my finger in the air' was because you failed to fulfill that function when the Captain called on you to do so."

"I had _nothing_ to give him!" Montoya said, stopping to face McDonald. "The available data was miniscule at best. Certainly not enough to come to any definitive conclusion."

"It didn't have to be definitive. The Captain just needed enough information to make a _decision_. The information didn't need to be perfect, just enough to help him choose a course of action."

"I can't believe he'd want to make such a decision with so few hard facts."

"Oh, please. Intelligence is such a dodgy business, Captains have had to make even more important decisions based on even less empirical knowledge. It happens all the time in war."

"We're not _at _war!"

"And we're damned _lucky_ we're not if this is the type of Officer you're going to be."

Montoya was insulted. "I have done _everything_ you've asked of me since I first met you! I have let you order me up and down these corridors like a _robot_ for the past two weeks…"

"And yet you haven't learned _a thing_." McDonald said as she stood.

Montoya crossed her arms. "Well, what am I missing?"

McDonald crossed _her_ arms. "For one thing, you should have learned that it is _not_ your place to argue with the Captain about our course of action, and you damned well don't do it in Control! If you have a problem, you come to me with it - privately and _respectfully_ - and _I_ discuss it with him. Until then, your job is to tell him what he needs to know when he asks you to."

"And what if my problem is that I think he's acting on _horrendously_ flimsy information from his Executive Officer?"

"Well, I'll be sure to pass that on to him, but I think it all turned out rather well…and he seemed to agree."

"Yes of course he did," Montoya muttered. "It was a chance to put yet another feather in the cap of his favorite officer, the Great and Powerful Number _One_."

McDonald cocked her head. "Are you asking for a hands-on demonstration of how we deal with insubordinate officers, _Leftenant_ Commander Montoya?"

Montoya suddenly winced and came to her senses. She shook her head to calm herself and dropped her arms. "I'm _sorry_!" She said, then looked at McDonald. "I'm sorry. It's just…I'm used to being able to experiment, make observations, gather new information at a reasonable pace and make a complete report when I've come to a conclusion I can back up."

"I understand that," McDonald said, "but _you_ must understand that you won't always have that luxury here. There will be times that the Captain must know what you know - whatever it is - so he can do _his_ job. So if he asks you for a guess, give him a guess."

"I understand." Montoya said.

McDonald nodded and softened her stance. As she turned back to her bunk, she said: "And you _haven't_ done everything I asked."

Montoya's hands went to her hips. "Of course I have!"

"Oh really? Because I could have sworn I asked you to choose watchstanders and relievers from your department for the Science Station."

"I barely know how to operate that console myself, and it took most of the two weeks we were in port for me to figure it out! And anyway, you obviously have others in your crew who are capable of standing watch on it."

"That I do. There are several technicians proficient in operating the console, but only _you_ know what you want done with it on a regular basis, so it is up to you to choose people from your department with the relevant experience and train them to take your place when you're not at the station…which reminds me: I could also swear to asking you to pick a Department First Officer."

"I haven't decided yet! I didn't think you needed me to pick one before we left spacedock!"

"I believe I used the word '_immediately'_ when I said it, which one would _think_ would be a clear indication that I meant _before we left spacedock_!"

"Why the rush? We have five years!"

"And you could die _tomorrow_. If we're going to complete the mission once you're dead, we have to have someone to take your place, either permanently or until another qualified person can be called up from Earth. _Pick_ Someone."

"Very Well." Montoya said with a sigh. "Can I at least go back to the Control Room and return to my station? I want to look at the sensor data some more and see if I can confirm some of what you suspect."

McDonald pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Pick Science Station watchstanders, tell _them_ what you want done and assign them watches! You only take that station when you're called to. I remember _explaining_ that to you when I…"

"I know, I know…" Montoya said. "I'll pick watchstanders."

"_After_ the conference in the Wardroom. And then get some rest. Falling asleep in The Chair during your first Midwatch is frowned upon."

"I'll do my best to stay alert. Anything else?"

"That'll be all. You're dismissed, Commander."

Montoya nodded and walked straight through the Head to her quarters, where she threw herself into her bunk. After a moment staring up at the ceiling, she grabbed her pillow, put it over her head and screamed into it as loudly as she could.

* * *

Montoya had seen the Wardroom several times since she reported aboard, but this would be the first time she'd be seeing all the Senior Officers in the room at once. She went in with Number One. Pike and Adams were already in there, along with an older officer in Work Blues and a lab coat that Montoya didn't recognize. Fast on Montoya and McDonald's heels were two more officers. One was Major Wayne Song, Commander of the ship's Landing Force contingent. Montoya was glad to see him. Aside from Commander Adams, Major Song had done the most of all the Senior Staff to make her feel welcome. He explained it as his duty as a fellow traveler. After all, they were both in the position of having to rely on the flyboys of Starfleet to give them a ride to places where they might do _real_ work.

The other officer was another stranger, but she was in Work Black, so Montoya assumed she was the senior Tactical pilot she'd been told would come aboard. She was a few inches shorter than Montoya, and she had blonde hair which she wore cut short, a style which didn't require pinning up, as Montoya's and McDonald's long locks did. She had California-girl looks and a Take-on-the-World manner, something Montoya figured came with the small set of wings all Tactical pilots wore above their Service Patches.

When Pike saw the pilot walk in he asked everyone to sit down. Montoya had learned that there was a pecking order to the seating around the table. Captain Pike's usual place was under the ship's Unit Emblem. Number One sat to his right, ChEng to his left. Montoya, as Second Officer, sat at Number One's right. The older gentleman sat next to Adams and across from her. That left Song and the pilot, who chose their seats by gender, leaving the pilot sitting to the Science Officer's right. The last seat, on the opposite end of the table from Pike, was left open.

"Okay," Pike started, "first some introductions are in order. Montoya, you didn't get to meet our Chief Medical Officer before we left. That would be the silver-haired rogue sitting across from you. Lieutenant Commander Isabel Montoya, Dr. Philip Boyce."

Both Officers smiled and nodded as they shook hands. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Montoya said.

"Likewise." Boyce said. "Look forward to working with you." As he said it, he thought _Rob was right. Number One will have to work overtime to defend her title._

Pike resumed the introductions when they broke. "And I'd like everyone to meet Lieutenant Commander Brigid Silas of the 59th Tactical Support Squadron, The Outriders. She will be serving with us as the Smallcraft Group Commander. Montoya, that means she'll have administrative control over everything that flies off the ship, including the Offboard Sensor Probes you'll be using. Silas, Welcome Aboard. You've met Montoya and Dr. Boyce, and this is Commander McDonald, Lieutenant Commander Adams and Major Song."

Everyone offered Silas a "Welcome Aboard", which Silas answered with "Thank You All. It's a pleasure to be aboard."

"Now let's get down to business. You already know why we're here, so this will just be a brief review. We've been given a unique survey mission, one that will take several years and cover a fair portion of the galaxy. Our purpose is to search out planets with the potential for life and investigate them for signs of a connection with the known worlds, including Earth. We're starting our search with a series of star systems observed at long range with instruments in orbit back home. They're all what the scientists call 'Goldilocks Systems' - most everything in them is just right to breed the kind of life we're looking for. When we've exhausted the current list, we'll use our own sensors to search for more Goldilocks Systems that are beyond the range of Earth's scopes. We'll keep seeking out new worlds until we're relieved of our station - or until we run out of galaxy, whichever comes first."

Everyone chuckled a little at that. "Wow," Silas said. "Just 'Second Star to the right, and Straight On Till Morning.'"

"Essentially." Pike said. "And just to prove that this mission won't be a total Milk Run, old Mister Murphy handed us a significant glitch on the way to the first system, so we're underway to it now on Impulse Power. As you can imagine that means we'll have a decent amount of time on our hands, so we'll spend it getting settled into a routine and learning how to work with our new crew members. Once we get there, it'll be Montoya's show to run. Commander, why don't you give everyone an idea of what to expect?"

All eyes were on Montoya again, but at least she was ready this time. "The star Indira is similar to our own Sun, about the same size and mass, it's a yellow star, and nearly as bright. Since we began planet-finding observations we've discovered five major bodies, all of them Gas Giants, one of which appears to be a Brown Dwarf - a star that didn't quite get going. On further observation, we discovered some smaller bodies, including one in particular that seems to be in the system's Goldilocks Zone. It's the right size and mass, it's just close enough to the star to be temperate, there's an atmosphere, there's plenty of water…it's everything we might expect from a life-bearing world, one that might produce sentient beings. That's the world we're going to focus on when we reach Indira. We'll confirm everything we've seen from long-range, we'll look for signs of intelligent life and - maybe - we'll try to make contact."

"Will you have to go down to the surface?" Silas asked her.

"I'd like to, personally, but there are a few things we need to determine before making that decision. One is the precise amount of oxygen in the atmosphere. We need to know just how temperate the climate is, things like that. Those are things we can only determine once we're in the system."

"Until then, we'll watch the system as we approach." Pike said. "We'll look for other bodies the astronomers on Earth missed, plus any early signs of intelligent life. Otherwise, it will be Business As Usual aboard. Get your departments squared away for the long haul. That's all, people."

With that Pike stood, prompting everyone else to follow suit. The officers filed out of the space in order and went their separate ways. As she made her way back to her quarters, Montoya noticed that someone else was tagging along. It was Commander Silas. "So it's you." The pilot said.

"'It's me', what?" Montoya said.

"You're the reason my Squadron Commander warned me I might be spending my next few birthdays deployed."

Montoya sighed. "I only volunteered for The Project, Commander. The current circumstances weren't my idea, but if it makes you feel better to hate me…"

"I don't hate you. I don't even know you. I'd like to, though. As we were being briefed back at the air station, I remember wondering what kind of people rated this kind of commitment from the Fleet."

"My boss, Dr. Narain, rated the commitment. I'm only Human."

"So I see. Which means that, since you're not a god or anything, I'll just have to get to know you the hard way: by being your friend."

Montoya turned to Silas and smiled at that. Silas returned the smile.

"So what do I call you?" Montoya said. "All the important officers seem to have nicknames."

"Well, you can call me 'Group Commander,'" Silas said, "or 'Wing Commander', 'Air Boss', 'CAG', or any of a dozen other anachronisms. Or, Brigid's fine."

"What about your Call Sign? I thought all pilots had one."

"You might as well call me Brigid. My Call Sign's 'Frigid'."

"'Frigid'?"

"Hey, you walk into Space Warfare School with a name like 'Brigid' and turn down a fellow student when he asks you out…" She shrugged.

"That's so harsh." Montoya said.

"But not surprising." Silas said.

"I'll call you 'Brigid', then, and you can call me 'Isabel'."

"This is _good_. We're already making progress. What do your friends call you?"

"My best friend calls me 'Belle'."

"Then my goal is to earn the right to call you 'Belle'."

Montoya smiled again. She'd take as many allies as she could get. "I'll tell you what." She said. "Help me keep Number One off my back and you can call me whatever you like."

"It's a deal…Smart Girl." Silas said. "Now…what's your trouble with Number One?"

* * *

"Me?" Flores said. "Why Me?"

She and Montoya were in the Ops Officers' Stateroom. Montoya had selected her to be the department's Second-In-Command. "Because you know the program agenda as well as I do and no one knows the way I think better than you. If something happens to me there's nobody I'd rather have take my place."

"But I don't know anything about running a department on a starship!"

"Neither do I. You'd be amazed how little that fact matters to Commander McDonald."

"Oh, _her_ again!" Flores groaned. "Well, what about Ben? He's actually been in Starfleet before! Why not give him the job?"

The door to the stateroom opened as Montoya answered. "I thought about asking Ben, but I got some advice on the way here…"

"You thought about asking me what?" Goren interrupted.

"To be the Science Department First Officer."

Goren laughed. "Yeah, right…why don't you ask Wendy?"

"I just did."

"Perfect! Congratulations, Wendy. You'll be great."

Flores was stunned. "But I don't _want_ the job!"

"Neither do I. I want to stay as far down the totem pole as possible for as long as possible."

"And yet it has to be one of you." Montoya said. "The advice I got was that I should choose someone that will be an extension of Me, whose will would be an extension of My Will. I have to have a second that I can trust to carry out my wishes. That's how it's done at every level. It's how McDonald got _her_ job."

"Well then, it's gotta be you, Wendy." Goren said. "You two have been Best Friends since long before I met you. You'd be a much better extension of Isabel than I would."

He'd said the last with a smirk, which Montoya and Flores returned, then Flores said: "What do I have to do?"

"I'll have to show you how to work the Science Station in the Control Room." Montoya said. "There's a manual, but to really understand the controls you have to use them. You may have to share some Midwatches with me so I can show you."

"Oh, great." Flores said. "Midnight Watch. Institutionalized insomnia." Goren chuckled.

"And we have to set up a proper watch schedule for the entire department, especially for the Science Station."

Flores grinned at Goren. "I vote we give _Ben_ the Dawn Watch!"

"Now let's not be _petty_!" Goren said, making Flores and Montoya laugh.

When they settled down, Flores said: "Seriously, Belle. I understand that all this military stuff is important to our friends in Starfleet, but when are we going to get to do what we came out here to do?"

Montoya sighed. "When we get to the planets we're looking for. Then we can be scientists…but until then, we're Starfleet, and I guess we'll just have to act the part."

"Yes, _Sir_." Goren said.

"Yes, Sir." Flores sighed. "Okay…so what happens if we _both_ kick the bucket? Do they get someone else from Earth to be Science Officer?"

"Of Course not." Montoya said. "If we're both gone, Ben takes over."

"Excuse me?" Goren said.

Montoya smiled. "More advice from my new friend. 'The First Officer is only the First Link in a proper Chain of Command.' _First_ Link, which implies that there should be more links in the chain."

"Hah! Welcome to the Chain, bro!" Flores said with a grin.

Goren just mimicked her sullenly as he went into the bathroom.

* * *

The following three weeks didn't exactly fly by, but as she got settled into a routine of sleeping in the morning, doing administrative work in the evening and then standing her watch, Montoya found that the passing of time was at least tolerable. She'd even managed to satisfy Number One. She'd presented Commander McDonald with a report detailing her intentions as to the chain of command in the Science Department and a schedule for training her people to stand watch in control. McDonald approved everything, asking only that once everyone was properly trained in, the most proficient watchstander be assigned the Forenoon watch to work with the Captain. As the days unfolded, Goren took to the Science Station the quickest, so Montoya ended up assigning him to the watch, thwarting Flores's revenge. The Science Officer tried to console her friend by giving her the Evening Watch, but since it meant being in Control with McDonald for six hours, Flores didn't find it very consoling.

For her part, Montoya was surprised how quickly she'd adapted to standing Midwatch. She hadn't fallen asleep that first night - at least not in the center seat. She'd caught 40 winks while she took a meal break in the Watch Officer's Ready Room, which was little more than a large closet with a cot, a small, folding table and a sink and toilet hidden in recesses in the walls. After a week she found she didn't need to nap at all. She'd become accustomed to staying awake and alert the whole time. There were consequences to this, however, as being Watch Officer when nothing was going on left one with too much time to think, and Montoya's thoughts kept drifting to the Indira system and their problems trying to get there at Warp. It wasn't long before the _Enterprise_ passed the hypothetical boundary where it had been shunted beyond the system. When nothing happened, confirming another of Number One's assumptions, it just made Montoya more curious about what they'd find. She was tempted to spend her watches at the Science Station trying to find some way to work out what happened, but McDonald had made it clear: The whole Control Room was a Watch Officer's responsibility when on watch, not just her favorite station.

And so it was that, three weeks later, Montoya found herself sitting in the center seat, staring blankly at the main viewscreen and glancing every now and then at the repeater screen above the Science Station, hoping to find a revelation in the image that the ensign manning the console might have missed.

She was surprised when it came from another station. "Conn, Sensors." The Sensor Officer said. "New Contact, bearing 020 mark 015, estimate range 2.3 A.U."

Montoya turned to his station. "What kind of contact?" She said.

"Too regularly shaped for a natural object." He said. "Looks like some sort of small spacecraft."

She was so stunned she just stared at him for a minute. Then she was out of the center seat and looking over his shoulder before she remembered that she could see what he was looking at just as easily on the repeater screen. Deciding to worry about propriety later, she asked: "Can you tell me what kind of spacecraft? Is it manned?"

"No. Not by humanoids, anyway." The Officer said. "The core's too small. No room to move around and no sign of working life-support. It's gotta be some kind of probe."

"Is it approaching?"

"No, Sir. Receding. Looks like it's following a ballistic course out of the system. I'm not getting any indication of powered flight."

"Is it radiating at all?"

"No, Sir. It looks stone cold."

And then the big question: "Can you get an image?"

"Sure. Give me one to tie-in the Electro-Optical sensor." The Officer took a moment to reposition the Optical sensor mounted on the underside of the Support Section. Soon, he'd taken an image of the space around the object, selected it, then enlarged and enhanced it.

The result was startling to Montoya. A small, blocky gray-white spacecraft hung on the screen. It had a simple rocket engine and there were several old-fashioned antennae and an umbrella-style dish attached.

"Can you backtrack its course?" Montoya whispered.

"I can only give you an estimate based on its current track. Without an active propulsion source…"

"That's okay…I just need a general idea of where it came from."

"Yes, Sir. Give me one to work the track."

"Good." Montoya said, then she had a thought. "Call the Captain to the Control Room." She told the Communications Officer.

To his credit, the Communications Officer managed not to look at her strangely as he said: "Aye, Sir." and carried out the order.

* * *

"Attention on Deck!" The Communications Officer called out. Captain Pike had come into Control via the starboard passage and the ensign caught sight of him first.

"As you were." Pike said gruffly.

Until the "Attention on Deck" call Montoya had been pacing around the center seat, lost in thought. When she turned toward the Communications Station and spotted Pike she was surprised and a little insulted. The Captain hadn't even bothered to dress. He was in pajamas and a blue bathrobe, his hair was disheveled and he was sporting a considerable Five O'clock Shadow.

He walked right over to the center seat. "Well, Commander?" He said to Montoya.

She cleared her throat unobtrusively. "We've found something." She said.

Neither said anything else for a few seconds, then Pike said: "And?"

"_And_ it answers some questions." She turned to the Sensor Officer. "Put the image up on the repeater."

"Aye, Sir." The Officer said as he complied. When the image was on the screen, both Pike and Montoya looked up at the repeater, The Science Officer with a smile on her face.

"It looks like an old-style space probe." Pike said.

"That's what I suspect it is," Montoya said, "but I'd want Ben - Lieutenant Goren - to have a look at it."

"Okay…so what does an old probe tell us?"

"That the system is inhabited by intelligent beings…or, at least, it was at some point. Display the projected course track."

The Sensor Officer complied again. This time the repeater showed a possible orbital track for the probe.

"The object has become a long-period satellite." Montoya said. "It will leave the system, but it won't go quite far enough to reach the nearest star. Instead, in a few centuries its orbit will bring it back within the vicinity of the inner planets."

"So you think the probe originated from within the system?"

"Its engine wasn't built for interstellar travel, and the course track has it originating from the vicinity of the fourth planet."

"The one we're going to."

"Yes, Sir. We estimate that it would have taken about sixty Earth years for it to have reached this position, and during those decades at least two of the outer planets would have been in an ideal position for the probe to have done a flyby."

"So…you think that sixty years ago there was a space program on Indira Four and it launched a mission to the outer planets?"

"It fits the information we have."

"Not all of it. I doubt people who only started launching deep space probes six decades ago could have graduated to futzing with our Warp Jumps."

"I agree, but maybe - just maybe - there's a pre-Warp civilization on Indira Four that the person or persons doing the 'futzing' are trying to protect against incursions by Warp-Capable civilizations."

That made Pike look at her. "That just brings us back to my original question: Are you _sure_ you want to continue into this system?"

"Definitely, Sir. Now more than ever. I mean, it's why we're out here. We have to see these people and see if they have a connection to _us_. We also need to know if there's a connection to the Warp-Futzers…or, whatever you call them…Sorry…"

"No, that's fine. Okay, maintain course and speed and keep an eye out for any more of these probes as we move further in." With that, Pike started to leave.

"Yes, Sir." Montoya said, smiling at his back. She was duly pleased with herself.

It was a short-lived moment. "And Montoya," Pike said, turning to her just inside the starboard entrance, "unless the next spacecraft you come across has a really big fusion warhead attached and is headed right for us, _don't_ wake me up again."

Her smile melted as he turned to leave for real. "Yes, Sir." She sighed. She'd thought he would want to know immediately. "He's never satisfied." She muttered as she went back to the center seat.

* * *

The next morning, Montoya was awakened from a sound sleep by the intercom alarm. She pulled herself out of her bunk and walked in a daze over to the intercom panel. She pressed the "Talk" button. "Montoya." She said.

A female voice said: "Commander, Captain's Compliments, and your presence is required in the Control Room."

She looked incredulously at the intercom panel, as if she were waiting to wake up from a dream. Ultimately, she realized that she really was already awake. "I'm on my way." She said and closed the link. Then she took a moment to wonder whether she should get dressed, then decided her punishment for being out of uniform couldn't possibly be more torturous than actually wearing it. With that happy thought, she was on her way to Control.

She arrived about a minute later, drawing glances from a few of the watch officers and a genuine double-take from Goren. She was wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweat pants and a Hawking Science Institute halter top.

Pike smiled when he turned his chair to look at her. "I thought I'd return the favor for last night." He said. "We found a few other things that should interest you. Science?"

Goren tore his gaze away from Montoya and cleared his throat. "Yes, Sir." He said, then to Montoya: "First off, you were right about the probe. We did some more detailed scans and confirmed that it's been in space for about sixty-two years. We also double-checked the positions of the planets at that time and reworked the projected course track to account for possible course corrections. We think your idea was on the money. It looks like the thing was launched from Indira Four."

"Well, that's wonderful," Montoya said, "but hardly something that couldn't have waited until the daily department briefing." She was speaking to Goren, but she hoped she'd said it clearly enough for Pike to hear…and that he would take the hint.

No such luck. "There's more, Commander." Pike said.

"Right." Goren said. "After we made those observations we adjusted the forward communications antenna to pick up standard radio frequencies on the off chance that we'd catch something interesting. Check this out." He turned back to the Science Station and called up a signal recorded by the Communications Officer earlier and played it over the Control Room loudspeaker.

The recording lasted just over a minute and was dominated by static, but there was something more interesting in the background, musical notes in some strange arrangement played by instruments no one recognized. The alien melody stopped near the end of the recording and was followed briefly by shrill squeals and what sounded like pounding fists before the signal gave way completely to static.

"I call it 'Alien Overture in B Flat'." Goren said. "We recorded a few other broadcasts, but that's the only one we recognized as anything humanlike - a concert. And none of the recordings is very clear. We could only clean up so much of the static, and the signal strength is marginal at best."

"And this is recent?" Montoya said.

"Near as we can tell, the signal's been traveling for a month or so. We ought to be able to pick up better stuff as we get in close…including traffic between the surface and any other spacecraft."

"That ought to make for a better daily brief, don't you think?" Pike said.

"Yes, Sir." Montoya said. "It certainly will."

"Then you should get back to your quarters and get some more rest, because when you wake up I want you to start thinking about how we're going to deal with these people when we get to Indira Four."

"Yes, Sir." She said, knowing that Pike knew full well she'd never get back to sleep with the possibility of First Contact drawing ever nearer. She took it philosophically. "Good Work, Ben." She said to Goren with a smile, then left the Control Room.

* * *

The Intercraft speakers came alive with three siren blasts, followed by an announcement from the Communications Officer on duty: "Now hear this: All Hands to Arrival Stations! All Hands to Arrival Stations! This is not a drill!"

Flores waited at the Science Station until Montoya arrived about two minutes after the announcement. "'Departure Stations', 'Arrival Stations', 'Battle Stations'…" she muttered, "…they're all the same thing! Why don't they just use one name for all of them?"

"They used to." Montoya said. "Ben told me they're all 'General Quarters'."

"So why don't they just _say_ 'General Quarters'?"

Number One had overheard the conversation from the center seat. "Because if we did that, the less experienced among us wouldn't know whether they were coming or going." She called out. "And speaking of 'going'…"

"I'm gone, I'm gone!" Flores said as she threw up her hands in surrender and made her way to the port passage. Montoya gave her a sympathetic look as she took over the Science Station.

Pike and Adams arrived a few seconds later from the starboard passage. "Attention on Deck!" Adams called out.

"As you were!" Pike called out. "What's our status?"

Number One stood and made her report. "Sir, we're nearing Final Approach to the planet."

"Very Well." Pike said as he took the center seat. "Prepare to enter orbit."

"Aye." Number One said, then she took over the helm.

"Orbit plotted and laid in." The Navigator said.

"Helm, engage at your discretion." Pike said.

"Sub-light Engines Back Full," Number One called out, "slowing to Ahead Creep. Making corrections for orbital injection…entering orbit, slowing to orbit speed…we're captured. Engines All Stop."

Montoya stayed silent as Number One announced the procedures she was following. It had been almost a week since the ship had intercepted the alien radio signals. As Goren had predicted, they managed to pick up even more recent stray signals as they approached Indira Four. None were as easy to interpret as the Alien Overture, however. In fact, each new transmission seemed more and more like a rushed news report. It was that assessment that helped Montoya to make up her mind. She wanted to go down to the planet's surface and see the people there first-hand. Whether she'd be able to do that or not was up to the Captain, but she would do her best to persuade him. It would depend on the results of the close-up survey of the atmosphere and surface, which would be done from a Very High Altitude orbit, one calculated to allow _Enterprise_ to avoid the smaller orbital craft the ship had begun picking up on its sensors.

"Turn us bow-on to the planet." Pike said.

"Turning the ship bow-on." Number One said as she gave the ship ninety degrees of yaw to port. Soon _Enterprise_ was staring down on Indira Four from 20,000 miles up. It also had the effect of exposing the least possible amount of the ship's surface area to direct sunlight.

"All right, people," Pike said, "let's get the lay of the land. Communicator, tell Flight Ops to launch the 'Alert' probes and begin SIGINT operations. Sensors, begin STC tracking and report all inbound and launch contacts. Countermeasures, bring up the wave-canceling system and switch the active jammers to 'Standby'. And we're at EMCON One as of right now, everybody. Let's not startle the natives."

Pike's orders set off a flurry of activity in and around the ship. The Flight Operations station - located in the Flight Bay - launched the two off-board sensor probes already loaded in the probe launch tubes mounted in the underside of the Support Section. One of the probes was a tactical one equipped with smaller versions of the sensors aboard _Enterprise_. It would take up an opposite orbit and cover the areas of space obscured to the ship's sensors by the bulk of the planet. The other probe was a weather satellite. This one would take up a pole-to-pole orbit and sample the planet's atmosphere and climate and also act as a communications relay between the ship and the tactical probe. Meanwhile, the Communications Officer switched from searching for random transmissions to conducting Signals Intelligence - SIGINT - a dedicated search for military-style transmissions, such as short-duration, line-of-sight bursts of information. The Sensor Officer began a detailed chart of the orbits of all the objects in near space for Space Traffic Control purposes. And the Countermeasures Officer activated the Sensor Wave-Canceling System. Mounted in strips on several of the broad areas of the ship, these devices were designed to detect scanner energy frequencies and transmit them back toward their source out-of-phase, negating any return energy before it reached the source's sensors. Finally, the entire Control Room was now operating under Emissions Control Setting One, which meant that there would be no active scanning or jamming and all external communications would be handled via line-of-sight, tight-beam burst transmissions. Pike wanted the ship to be as invisible as possible.

It took a few minutes for the two probes to get into their respective orbits and begin their work. Once they started sending data the Sensor Officer was first to report. "Captain, we're getting details on the atmosphere. Mostly Nitrogen and Oxygen, temperate climate, background radiation within tolerable norms, three major and two minor land masses. Getting updated size and mass estimates…we've confirmed everything that was observed from Earth."

"That's a good sign." Pike said.

The Communications Officer was next. "Sir, I'm picking up _very_ heavy comm traffic between the surface and several satellites in close orbit. All burst traffic. Can't tell if it's coded or not without a translation, but I think a few are remote commands."

"That's confirmed." The Sensor Officer said. "Two contacts are making course corrections. They're probably transiting to new orbits."

"Sir, they're really alert down there." The Countermeasures Officer said. "As soon as the weather sat started sampling the atmosphere everything on the planet pointed toward space was amped up. They're not getting anything solid off us yet, but they're looking hard."

"Uh-oh." Pike said. "Sensors, either of those satellites gaining altitude?"

"Wait one…no, Sir, just speed. There's nothing inbound either us or…whoa! Spoke too soon! Multiple Launch Contacts! There are flashes all over the land mass bearing dead ahead!"

"Main viewer!" Pike said. Soon the view on the main screen was magnified enough so that points of white-orange light could be made out rising into the sky. Further magnification revealed areas that could only be bases with missile silos. _Empty_, smoking missile silos.

"There's more, Sir." The officer said. "Now the tactical probe is picking up similar launches from the other side of the planet."

"Are we the target?" Pike said.

"Can't be, Sir. All the missiles are headed for near orbit. They won't reach us…but if they continue on these tracks…" His voice trailed off.

He didn't have to finish. "Science Officer," Pike said, "just for the record, I'll ask one last time: Do you _still_ want to visit these people?"

Montoya, who'd been staring open-mouthed at the main viewer, turned to him. "I…up until this moment, I'd been trying to figure out how to convince you to let me go down there."

"Well, I hate to disappoint you, Montoya," Pike said, "but unless everybody down there gets whatever they call 'Religion' real quick, all you'll be visiting will be a giant cinder."

Both of them turned back to the screen and watched as the missiles made their inexorable way to their targets.


	8. Segment Six

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE GOD MACHINE**

**by Darrin Colbourne**

* * *

Montoya was frozen. She felt utterly helpless. It saddened her to have come all this way and found intelligent beings at the very first stop only to have them destroy themselves before her very eyes. It was the last thing she'd ever expected to see. For long moments she wondered if this were somehow the result of her own shortcomings. Intellectually she knew this was just some horrible coincidence, but deep down she couldn't help but second-guess her actions from the time they first approached the Indira system, trying to figure out if this might have been avoided had she taken some different action sooner, or if they had simply gone on to the next world.

Pike, meanwhile, simply sat and watched the screen with a detachment even he didn't know he could manage. It was actually easy for him. This was one instance where the heavy decision didn't fall on his shoulders. This was a serious disruption in their mission, but that just meant that it was up to their Mission Planner to decide how to continue, which meant that it was up to _Montoya_ to suggest a course of action. For his part, all he had to do was wait patiently for her to ask the right question and take it from there, so waiting patiently was what he was doing. He wouldn't prod, he wouldn't prompt. He would simply let her collect herself and turn to him with what she wanted to do. If there was any vestige left of the woman he first encountered in the briefing two months ago, he was sure he wouldn't have long to wait.

She didn't disappoint him. Suddenly she snapped out of her reverie and turned to him. "Could _we_ stop them?"

It was almost a plea, but it _was_ the right question. Pike turned to the station opposite hers. "Fire Control, could we shoot those missiles down with our point defenses?"

The Fire Control Officer, who'd been monitoring the data coming from the sensors, said, "Yes, Sir, but we need to get started right now. We'd have to take up a pole-to-pole orbit half the distance from where we are now so that we can catch the bulk of the missiles as their courses inter-penetrate…"

"Captain, if I may," Number One said, turning toward Pike, "We may get all the sub-orbital missiles with the point defenses, but that won't stop any cruise missiles or bomb-carrying aircraft or spacecraft that might be deployed. To get them we'd have to go active with the Main Sensor, wrecking our small target profile."

"True," Pike said, "but they're going to figure out _somebody's_ up here as soon as their missiles start blowing up in orbit. They already suspect something is amiss thanks to our weather probe. If we're going to take out anything we have to give up what stealth we have."

"Not all of it." Montoya said, making Pike and McDonald look at her. "I mean, we don't have to approach the planet or go active to take everything out. We can do it with EMPs. Explode some of our torpedos in the upper atmosphere. They won't kill anyone on the ground, but the resulting EMPs should fry the electronics of anything in the air or nearby space. We can do _that_, can't we?"

"We can." Pike said.

"Suppose there are pilots in those craft?" Number One said. "They may not be able to stay aloft without power."

"Better to ditch on an intact world than to be incinerated along with it." Montoya said. "I think we should try it."

"I agree." Pike said. "Battle Stations!"

The Communications Officer touched a contact on her console which started an electronic gonging over the Intercraft speakers, then announced along with it "Now Hear This: All Hands Man Your Battle Stations! Say Again, All Hands Man Your Battle Stations! This is not a drill!"

Montoya smirked as she turned back to her station, imagining that in Sick Bay Flores was banging her head in frustration at what she considered an inane practice. At least now Montoya saw that there was a perverse logic to it. Setting the ship at Departure and Arrival Stations meant that, should anything happen when the ship was at the beginning or end of a voyage, it wouldn't take long at all to bring it to a fighting stance.

Of course, Battle Stations was unique in that it meant the gloves were off. The Weapons Officer would be bringing the ship's directed-energy weapons - point-defense lasers and intermediate-range particle cannons - from 'Standby' to 'Armed'. Small-tree-trunk sized torpedos were being loaded into the torpedo tubes mounted over the Main Sensor. At least one of the tactical craft in the Flight Bay was being brought to 'Alert-Five' status, meaning that it would be ready to launch within five minutes of the order being given. Lander teams were being deployed throughout the ship to guard against the unlikely event that _Enterprise_ was boarded. And somewhere, someone had switched the lighting in the Control Room from Soft White to Deep Red. The purpose of this eluded Montoya. She'd been told it was to preserve the Control Room crew's vision in the event of power loss and to focus the watchstanders on their consoles, but she suspected that the Starfleeters just did it because it looked 'cool'. At any rate, it signaled that the Control Room was now an Attack Center, meaning the _Enterprise_ was on a war footing.

"All Decks report 'Ready'." Number One said a minute after two Landers wearing green fatigues and body armor and carrying shoulder-fired combat arms took station in the Attack Center.

"Very Well." Pike said. "Science Officer, coordinate with Fire Control and select areas of the atmosphere where the detonations will do the most damage. Fire Control, how many weapons do you think we need?"

"Recommend 12 weapons, Sir." The officer said. "Enough to get maximum coverage over the major land masses, the poles and the oceans."

"Start working on the firing solutions. Weps, how are we loaded?"

"We've got two Mark Tens in the tubes." The Weapons Officer said.

"Very Well. Open the outer doors, fire when you have solutions, reload with Mark Tens. Sensors, recall the weather probe and send the tactical probe out to 30,000 miles."

As Weapons and Fire Control acknowledged and complied, Number One said: "You understand, Captain, that this will only work if those alien weapons are not properly radiation hardened."

Pike thought about it a moment. "Well, our Lieutenant Goren thinks that the first probe we encountered was made when their technology base was equivalent to Earth's around the mid-twentieth century. If their technological advance has progressed at the same rate, it's doubtful that even their best hardening techniques will be able to withstand what we're about to throw at them."

"Yes, well that is a rather large 'If', Sir. If we're wrong…"

"Sometimes you can only go with the information you have." Montoya said. It was just loud enough to be heard. Pike didn't look away from the main screen, but he did look slightly amused. Number One did turn to Montoya, just long enough to shoot her an evil look. Montoya simply continued to work out targeting data.

"Solutions set for tubes one and two!" The Fire Control Officer called out.

"Torpedo Tubes ready in all respects!" The Weapons Officer said. "Shooting One, Shooting Two! Torpedos Away! Reloading with Mark Tens!"

"Torpedos running hot, straight and normal!" Fire Control said as the torpedos ignited their engines and sped off to their targets. Mark Ten Fusion Torpedos were essentially multimegaton thermonuclear warheads mated to fast sub-light engines and compact passive sensors. The whole system was controlled by a programmable targeting system. The weapons were designed to snap unshielded spacecraft in half and overload the energy shields of better protected ones.

Pike listened as the two officers launched twelve of the weapons over the course of a few minutes. The ship carried forty-three more of the torpedoes in her magazines. Pike hoped the first salvo would do the trick. He didn't want to have to explain why he'd need such a massive re-arming so soon after the start of what was ostensibly a peaceful mission.

It was a matter of seconds before the torpedoes reached their programmed coordinates in the planet's atmosphere. "Weapons at targets," the Fire Control Officer said, "firing Now, Now, Now."

With the touch of a contact twelve small suns exploded in Indira Four's upper atmosphere. The effects were immediate. Computers automatically dimmed the main screen and Sensor monitors to protect the Attack Center crew from the glare, but even at the extreme range Adams and the Engineering Section had to take steps to protect the ship's electromagnetic systems. The satellites and missiles in close orbit weren't so lucky. There were actually several direct kills from the blasts, but most of the surviving objects were slammed by the resulting electromagnetic pulses. Montoya collated the data from the Sensor, Communications and Countermeasures Stations and gave the report. "All incoming scans have been shut down. We're not detecting any transmissions between the surface and the satellites…I think we did it." She was smiling when she turned to Pike.

"The missiles are still flying." Number One reminded her.

The Sensor Officer responded. "That's true, Sir, but the ones that were still in the boost phase haven't seperated from their first stages yet. The ones that are already inbound to their targets haven't deployed any warheads. I think it's safe to say that there will be a lot of duds falling to the surface, but we just stopped their World War III."

Montoya caught Number One's eye and smiled wide and raised an eyebrow. Number One merely glared and returned to her console. The Science Officer's triumph was short-lived. Just a moment after she returned to her own console there was a brief power outage in Control. Everything went black for a moment, then the lighting retuned, this time bathing the space in bright blue. That was the sign that the ship was on auxiliary power.

Pike turned his chair toward the Engineering Section. "ChEng…"

"Sir," Adams said, "you're not gonna believe this. We just got hit with an EMP."

Pike was stunned. "Ours?"

"No, Sir. That wasn't powerful enough to get past our shielding. Something much more powerful just fried the connectors in the nacelles. Main Power is down. We're running on the batteries now."

"How long till we have Main Power back?"

"Damage Control's on it now. The connectors are going to have to be replaced. Estimate twenty minutes until repairs are complete. Naturally, until then we won't be able to jump to Warp."

Pike grunted and turned back to the main screen. "I sincerely doubt that the people who launched those missiles were capable of skunking us like that." He said.

"The Warp-Futzers." Montoya muttered.

"Commander?" Number One said as she turned.

"It's possible that they aren't happy with what we just did." Montoya told her. "I think they responded in kind."

The Attack Center was silent for a few moments after that as everyone let that sink in, then Pike said: "Countermeasures, any idea where that pulse came from?"

"Going over the data now, Captain." The Officer said. "Got it. It looks like it came from the surface."

"Concur." The Sensor Officer said. "From an unpopulated region on the far side…at least that's what the tactical probe saw before it got fried too. Looks like the beams were bounced through the satellites in low orbit."

"How could they have survived our weapons' effects?" Pike said.

"I don't think they _did_, Sir. I think they were just intact enough to channel the beam we got hit with. Whoever shot at us was playing Cosmic Pool, and dusted the sats in the process."

Pike thought about that for a minute. "Okay. I'm impressed. We'll stay at Battle Stations until Main Power is restored, then we'll return to a normal watch. I want to meet with the Department Heads immediately after we stand down."

As everyone went back to work, Montoya contemplated what she'd say at the staff meeting. Somewhere down on Indira Four someone - or some_thing_ - had lashed out at them. She wanted to know who they were and why they were doing it, and there seemed to be only one way to find out.

* * *

"We want to do some Warp Power-up and control tests before we attempt a jump," Adams was saying in the Wardroom twenty-five minutes later, "but it looks like the repairs were a success. You couldn't get more surgical than the strike that hit us. The Bad Guys knew exactly where to do enough damage to knock out our power without leaving us stranded here."

"It was a warning." Montoya said. "Like shunting us three light-years away at Warp. They want to keep us from interfering with this world without hurting us."

"And I suppose you'd like to go on ignoring the warnings." McDonald said.

"What _are _your intentions, Commander?" Pike asked Montoya before she could respond.

"Sir, I'd like to form a landing party and go down to the surface near the source of the beam that hit us." She said. "It's not in a highly populated area and the environment is similar enough to Earth's that we can go down in regular clothing."

"Have you forgotten so soon that there's also a _war_ on?" McDonald said. "Nuclear conflict is an _escalation_ for a society in this stage of development. We don't know how long they've been shooting _conventional_ weapons at each other, nor do we know what weapons survived the EM pulses. We should thoroughly scan the place before you even think of going down there."

"I thought you were worried about compromising our stealth." Montoya said.

"Well, given that we've been _shot at_ I'd say that our stealth has already been compromised, so there's no sense in setting foot in a war zone when we can examine it just as closely from orbit."

"Orbital scans won't tell us _why_ these people are at war, nor will they tell us why there's something on the planet that wants us to back off and let it happen. We have to go down and look around."

"_Or_, we can take the hint and get as much information as we can from orbit before we move on, preferably within the hour. We're obviously not welcome here. Let's not press the issue."

"We _can't_ leave. I didn't expect to find a populated world this early in the mission, much less one this far along in its development. And we need a very close look at what's been attacking us. We have to go down there at some point."

"And what if the next 'warning' powers down the transport just as it's entering the atmosphere?"

"I'm willing to take that risk."

"Unless you plan to somehow teleport down by yourself, you're asking others to share that risk with you. Quite frankly, Commander, I don't think you've earned the right."

"But I _have_," Pike said, getting back control of the meeting, "so I'll be the one doing the asking if we decide a landing is a 'Go', Number One."

McDonald's head spun in Pike's direction. It sounded very much like a rebuke, which surprised her. Still, she recovered quickly. "Aye, Sir." She muttered.

"Montoya," Pike said, "who did you have in mind for the landing party?"

"Myself, of course," Montoya said, "and Wendy Flores and Ben Goren, and Jim Greenfield, our Archeologist. And a couple of research assistants."

"Very Well. I'd like you to take Commander McDonald as well."

The two officers looked at each other and then turned to Pike. "Sir?" They said in unison.

"You both obviously have your own ideas about what's going on here, so I think it's a good idea if you figure it out together. That'll make it easier for you to filter out what's true from what's conjecture."

"But, Sir…" Montoya began. Pike cut her off with a raised hand.

"That's how it's going to be, Commander. You take McDonald with you or you don't go. It's up to you."

Montoya surrendered. "Yes, Sir." She said, defeated.

McDonald still had some fight left. "Sir, if we're intent on doing this, might I suggest that we bring along a squad of Landers for security?"

Montoya couldn't take it anymore. "Well, how _stupid_ would it be to set down with an armed party if you're right about it being a war zone?"

"Only slightly less stupid than setting down with nothing but a trio of researchers and a pair of college students with hand scanners between us and the enemy, _if_ I'm right." McDonald said.

"Ladies…" Pike said, a warning tone to his voice. Montoya and McDonald clammed up, then the Captain turned to his Landing Force commander. "Major Song, can you spare an officer to handle Security for the operation?"

"Yes, Sir. I can spare _me_." Song said without hesitation.

"Very Good. So this is what we're going to do: Montoya, you're going to prepare your landing party, but one of the preparations you're going to make is you're going to issue sidearms to everyone going ashore. While she's doing that, Number One, you'll return to Control and conduct those scans you wanted, so that you'll have the data to contribute to Montoya's mission plan. Commander Silas, you'll need to prep a transport and a Cavalier. I want a tactical craft flying high cover for the operation. Ladies, when you are on the ground, Montoya is in charge. Number One, you'll be there to help with communications and make sure Montoya gets anything she needs from the ship to carry out her survey. If there's shooting to be done, you'll follow Song's lead. Montoya, how long do you think you'll need?"

"I honestly don't know. I need to…"

"You have two hours, starting the moment you touch down. If you can conduct a preliminary survey without incident we can talk about you going down there again for a longer time."

"But…"

"Two Hours, Commander, and then you _will_ be back in that transport and on your way back here, Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Any other questions?" No one had any. "Very Well. Dismissed." With that, Pike stood, forcing everyone else to do the same, then McDonald, Montoya, Silas and Song vacated the Wardroom and went to carry out their assignments. Adams and Boyce lingered a moment longer.

"Very decisive." Boyce said when the others were out of earshot. "Very commanding. It almost brought a tear to my eye the way you took charge like that."

"I agree, Sir." Adams said. "You should be teaching leadership classes in O-School."

"Oh, shut up." Pike said, causing the others to laugh, then he pointed at Boyce. "And you…don't you need to be somewhere as well? When they come back…"

"I know, I know," Boyce said. "I'll be preparing the decontamination chambers." With that Boyce left the Wardroom.

"What about us?" Adams said when Boyce was gone.

"We _talk_," Pike said, "about what we're going to do to make sure we don't get blindsided again."

* * *

It was one part of the Support Section that Montoya had hoped to avoid for the duration of the mission. Only a preparation schedule that left no room for small arms training had let her stay away for this long. Now, Pike's orders had given her no choice.

She had never seen so many weapons in one spot in her life. The Armory was located in a small cargo bay and managed by two Starfleet Landers. The walls were lined with rack upon rack of shoulder-fired combat arms, assault weapons and man-portable air defenses, of both the directed-energy and projectile throwing varieties. There were also numerous cabinets with hand-held versions of the above, along with grenades and other explosive devices, edged weapons and gas weapons (grenades and hand-held sprayers). Several other cabinets carried spare ammunition; rounds for the slug-throwers, rechargeable power packs for the DEWs.

Song had accompanied Montoya to the space. "There's enough here to overthrow a small country." She breathed.

Song chuckled. "Not quite," he said, "but it is enough for my entire force - plus about a third of the rest of the ship's company - to combat assault an enemy installation."

Montoya sighed. "I don't want to combat assault _anything_. I just want to take a look around."

"You might as well be safe while you're looking." He said, then turned to one of the Landers. "Corporal, let's have one of the Childresses."

"Aye, Sir." The Corporal said with a smile and a nod, then he went over to one of the cabinets and took something out. He returned a moment later with a large, black handgun in his hands, which he handed to Song.

The Major showed the weapon to Montoya. "Childress 510 Series Directed Energy Pistol. It's a particle weapon. You pull the trigger and it shoots a stream of high energy particles straight through the target. Just like a bullet, only a lot damn faster and without having to police the casings afterwards." He handed the weapon to her, handle-first

She hesitated before taking it. "Is it loaded?"

Song showed her the bottom of the handle. There was an empty, rectangular slot in the center. "It's useless without the power pack. And anyway, the safety's on. Try it."

Montoya took the weapon, holding it gingerly in her two hands. "It's light."

"It's made mostly of composites and alloys. And there's zero recoil. Easy to carry and easy to fire."

Montoya looked at it for a moment more, then put her right hand around the handle and her forefinger around the trigger guard, then extended the weapon toward the bare part of one of the walls.

"You should use your left hand to steady it." Song said.

"But if there's no recoil…" Montoya began.

"It's not the recoil." Song said, and pointed to her hand, making her look. She hadn't realized it was shaking.

She lowered the weapon immediately. "I've never shot anyone in my life. I've never even held a gun in my life."

"Well, if all goes well, you won't have to use it today, right?"

"I suppose, but still…do you have any non-lethal weapons?"

"Actually we do. Corporal, could you get us a Phaser?"

"Yes, Sir." The Corporal said, then went to retrieve another weapon. When he returned he was carrying a black, cylindrical object that was just under half a meter long and about two inches wide. He handed it to Montoya after she handed the Childress back to Song.

"It looks like a flashlight." She said after she examined it. There was a large lens at one end and two dials mounted in the other.

"It's the most dangerous flashlight ever created by Man." Song said. "It'll put out a flash of light at up to a million candlepower, accompanied by a high-powered microwave beam. Aim it at the target's head and press the contact, and he'll be dazzled, nauseous, spastic, and then he'll drop like he just got KO'd in the first round by the Klingon Heavyweight Champ."

Montoya pointed the Phaser at the wall. This time her hand was steady. "How often do you use these?"

"Not often. They were originally designed for use by police forces for crowd control. The Landing Force has different priorities. In combat, 'non-lethal' just means the bad guy you drop today comes back at you tomorrow."

Montoya lowered the weapon and turned to him. "Still, they must be of some use to you, or you wouldn't have them."

"We have them more for political reasons than any other. They have as many limitations as advantages. For instance, the dazzle light won't work on Romulans because, like Vulcans, they have an inner eyelid that protects them from intense light. And Klingons' redundant physiognomy means that you can only bring them to their knees with Phasers, even at full power."

"What about Orions?"

Song snorted. "They just point and laugh."

Montoya smiled. "Okay, fine. So I can't conquer the universe with them, but could I at least issue these to my landing party?"

"You can issue them to your people if you want, but we don't know anything about the locals yet. The Phasers may have about as much effect on them as they do on Orions. Personally, I'd rather have something that will put holes through their vital organs."

"I'm sure Number One feels the same way."

"So am I. Look, we'll just take enough Childresses and Phasers for the entire landing party and decide who gets what in the transport." He and Montoya handed the weapons to the Corporal. "We'll need seven more of each, plus three reloads apiece." Song ordered. "Have them delivered to the Alert transport in the Flight Bay."

"Aye Aye, Sir." The Corporal said, then turned to the other Lander. "Get eight of each together with basic reload sets." He said as he handed the other man the weapons. When he went off to fill the order, the Corporal turned back to the officers. "I just need a signature, Sirs."

"It's your party." Song said to Montoya. The Corporal went to retrieve a clipboard-sized datapad and brought it over. He tapped out the order on the screen, filled in the mission particulars, then handed the pad and a thin stylus to Montoya.

"I need your thumbprint and signature in the box at the bottom, Sir." He said.

Montoya took the pad and stylus. She scanned the screen quickly and found the box he was talking about in the bottom right corner. It was labeled "Mission Commander."

As she pressed her right thumb in the square marked "Thumbprint" and used the stylus to sign her name on the line provided, she said, "So I guess if anything happens to these weapons…"

"They'll take it out of your pay," Song said, "assuming you live through whatever happens, of course."

"Of course." She said, then handed the pad and stylus back to the Corporal. "So what now?"

"The Equipment Bay. We need to get field radios and such."

As they left, Montoya asked. "By the way…why 'Phasers'?"

"Nobody knows. The Testing and Evaluation guys gave it that name, and even they aren't sure why. It was probably just a bet. Silliest Weapon Name Ever wins, or something…"

* * *

The Flight Bay was the lowest active deck in the ship. It was divided into two sections. The after section was the Hangar Deck, where the _Enterprise_'s smallcraft were stored and maintained. The forward section was the Flight Deck, a large airlock where the craft were prepared for missions, launched and recovered. The two craft assigned to Montoya's mission were ranged on opposite sides of the Flight Deck and maintaining an Alert-5 status.

As she and Song entered the Flight Deck, Montoya noticed that Silas and three others were grouped near the nose of the Cavalier Tactical Support Craft parked on the port side of the deck. They were all dressed in dark-green-and-black pressure suits and the other three were paying close attention as Silas talked. Montoya assumed it was an _ad hoc_ mission briefing for the flight crews.

Montoya grimaced slightly as she regarded the spacecraft near them. When she'd first seen the Cavalier her first impression was that it resembled some kind of giant mechanical shark. She'd been told it could operate in an atmosphere as well as it operated in space, but she doubted it, since the only visible control surfaces were the planes mounted in an inverted-Y in its tail. The stubby wings mounted mid-frame were actually pylons for a variety of weapons, up to and including Mark 18 anti-shipping torpedoes, smaller, faster versions of the Mark 10. For this mission the pylon she could see sported a high-energy laser. As was custom, the rear half of the ship was taken up mainly with the propulsion systems, with a complex Sublight Engine/Reaction Control System cluster mounted above and two Space Warp Engines installed flush with the after hull. The entire thing was painted black and gray and marked with the Starfleet Eight-Pointed Star, the United Earth emblem and the "Outrider" Squadron emblem - a cloaked horseman brandishing a musket - which was painted on either side of the vertical tail plane.

The Science Officer's ride to the planet didn't look anywhere near as menacing. The Workhorse Logistics Support Craft was simply a medium-sized lifting-body spaceplane. All of its propulsion systems were mounted internally and it carried no offensive weapons. It was designed mainly to carry small cargo loads and personnel between ships and from ship to "shore". It was painted white and black and bore its markings along its flanks. The squadron emblem especially intrigued Montoya because, at first glance, the stylized drawing of a Douglass DC-3 cargo plane didn't seem to fit the squadron nickname. It made more sense to her when it was explained that "Trash-Hauler" was an old air service nickname bestowed by fighter and bomber pilots on their cargo-carrying brethren.

Goren was waiting at the bottom of the ship's aft loading ramp as Montoya and Song approached. "McDonald's on her way!" He called out. "She just finished the comprehensive scan of the planet. She'll tell us what she found out when she gets here."

"That's good." Montoya said as they reached the ramp. "What about the others?"

"Wendy and Jim are already in the transport. Our techs are off getting a couple of last-minute instruments. We didn't realize how much this thing could actually hold until we got here. Other than that, we were just waiting for you and Number One."

"We were just signing out some weapons and field equipment." Song said. "Should get here when your assistants do."

"Here comes Number One now." Montoya said. The others looked where she was looking. McDonald had just walked in from the Hangar Deck. She headed straight over to the pilots and spoke with Silas for a minute or so, then the group split up. Silas and her Weapons Systems Officer boarded the Cavalier as McDonald and the other pilots came over to the Workhorse.

"Well, we've learned a few things." McDonald said as the pilots boarded. "First, our EM pulse attack worked better than we expected. From what we can tell from orbit, power in nearly ninety percent of the planet's population centers is still out."

"Well, that's good news." Montoya said.

"There's also _bad_ news." McDonald said. "Nearly half the installations we can identify as military bases have managed to _restore_ their power, or might never have lost it. Most of them are underground, bunkered facilities, so there's no way to know for sure what functions they serve until they're fully active. I suppose it's good news that there's nothing flying right now, but that hasn't stopped various campaigns going on on the ground. We have indications of a relative few vehicles being repaired and employed for troop movements, but mostly infantry forces are simply engaging each other on foot."

"Back to basics." Song muttered. McDonald nodded.

"Not totally, however. There was at least one modern weapon system that seems to have survived our attack unscathed: Submarines."

Montoya was surprised. "Submarines?"

"Magnetic scans of the oceans picked up several moving objects deep beneath the surface. Their movements are too orderly for them to be aquatic life forms, and there are indications of undersea explosions and supercavitation."

"So the undersea battle is alive and well." Song said.

"And it may not stay undersea. At least six of the submarines we've been tracking are making their way to points near the major land masses. They could be going home, but a few are making their way to unpopulated areas near the poles, and if these actions are consistent with our assumptions about the Indirans…"

"They could be heading for firing points for sub-launched intercontinental missiles." Song said.

Montoya started pacing. "They must have been too deep to be affected by the pulse." She muttered to no one in particular. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Yes," McDonald said, "if only it had occurred to _someone_ that such an attack might miss something."

Montoya stopped pacing and shot McDonald a dirty look. The First Officer responded with a raised eyebrow and a frown. Montoya just conceded the point. "Very Well. Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Just that the object we're going down to see is causing serious distortions in the planet's magnetic field. The effect reaches out to ten miles on the surface and up to six miles into the atmosphere."

"Here comes our stuff." Goren said before Montoya could follow up. Everyone's gaze was drawn back to the entrance from the Hangar Deck. Four crewmen - the two research technicians, the Lander from the Armory and another crewman in a Gold shirt - accompanied a Deck Crewman pushing an anti-grav pallett loaded with cases and boxes to the Workhorse. As the Deck Crewman pushed the pallett up the ramp the others reported to their superiors.

"We met the deckhand in the Hangar." The Lander said to Song. "Your weapons are at the bottom of the pallett."

"Very Well." Song said. "Thanks for bringing them."

"Aye, Sir." The Lander said with a nod and departed. As he left a research tech approached Goren.

"And our instruments are right on top of the weapons." He said.

"Great. Go ahead and get on board." Goren said. The two technicians nodded and boarded the craft while the last crewman addressed Song and McDonald.

"Your equipment's aboard as well, Major," he said, "and the things you requested are there too, Number One."

"What did you ask for?" Montoya said.

"Jackets and caps." McDonald said. "The temperature where we're going is 58 degrees Farenheit and it's breezy." She smiled and indicated the ramp. "Shall we go?"

Montoya nodded and boarded the Workhorse as Song dismissed the Quartermaster's Mate and the Deck Crewman came down with a now-empty pallett, then he and Goren followed McDonald up the ramp. The ramp closed when everyone was clear and the officers made their way through the hold and up the small flight of stairs to the passenger area. There was seating for ten people, aside from the flight deck, where the pilot and co-pilot were prepping for launch. Flores, the bookish Lieutenant Jim Greenfield and the technicians were already seated. Goren, Montoya and Song found seats themselves as McDonald stopped in the "front office" and said to the pilot, "We're ready to go."

"Yes, Sir." He said, then turned to the radio as she went to a seat. "Hauler One to Prize," he said when he connected with Flight Ops, "We are ready to launch."

* * *

Pike was back in Control in the center seat when the call came in. "Message from Flight Ops". The Comms Officer said. "The Shore Mission is ready for launch."

"Give them the go." Pike said.

"Aye, Sir. Flight Ops, Control. Launch the Alert Spacecraft."

* * *

An alarm sounded in the Flight Deck, forcing the deck crew to retreat to air-tight shelters as the access to the Hangar Deck was closed tight. A moment after everyone was safe the Flight Deck was depressurized, then the Inner Airlock Doors in the center of the deck slid open. When the Outer Doors followed suit, Flight Ops sent to the ships, "Shore Mission, you are go for launch. Sortie your ships."

Silas's craft, "Rider One," was the first to depart, using its RCS jets to rise off the deck and slide over the access to space. When the pilot of "Hauler One" saw the Cavalier disappear through the Inner Door he brought the Workhorse off the deck and followed. A few seconds later he was transiting through the Outer Doors and free to maneuver. Rider One was already beyond _Enterprise_'s Main Sensor and heading for Indira Four.

"Hauler One, Rider One," Silas's voice sounded in the cockpit, "stay in my exhaust, just like we discussed."

"Copy, Rider One," The Workhorse Pilot responded, "taking trailing position." He slid his ship into a position about a hundred meters behind the Cavalier. The plan was to do a flyover of the landing zone via one pole-to-pole orbit, then to descend at the end of the orbit. At their current speed it would only be seconds before they reached low orbit.

As the transport angled up toward the north pole, Montoya turned to McDonald. "Did you see them?"

"Sorry?" McDonald said.

"In all your scanning, did you see _them_? The Indirans."

"Oh. Well, I did see some of them as they were marching off to kill each other…"

"What did they look like?"

"Even _Enterprise_'s optics have their limits. All we could see were figures moving along the surface."

"Surely you must have seen _something_ of their appearance?"

"Well, yes, but from above, through a lens more than twenty-thousand miles away."

"That same lens imaged a space probe from nearly two and a half _astronomical units_ away!"

"Yes…a space probe the size of a _large vehicle_, sporting a dish the size of our Main Sensor, traveling in _open_ _space_, with no clouds, fog, smoke or atmosphere to obscure or distort the image…"

"All right, I understand all that, but even with those limitations…"

"Commander, look…I understand what you want me to say. It's not as if there was anyone sunbathing out in the open for us to zoom in on. It's likely the bulk of the civilian populace sought shelter when the first missiles were launched, and the soldiers we could see were all armored from head to toe…and anyway, as I said, we could only see them from above. There was no way to see their faces, and that wasn't my priority."

Montoya looked like she might protest further, but she simply sighed inwardly and turned back around. McDonald looked at her, wondering what she had done to upset the Science Officer _this_ time.

"Commander Montoya!" The pilot called from the right seat in the cockpit. "Did you wanna come see this?"

Montoya got up and went forward. There was only about enough room for her to stick her torso in through the entrance. "What is it?" She asked.

"Take a look." The Pilot said, indicating the forward windscreen.

Montoya turned her gaze straight ahead and got her closest look yet at the planet. The horizon was only slightly curved and stretched from one end of the screen to the other. Their course was taking them over the pole, so patches of ice could be made out through the thin cloud cover. The Indiran ocean was a soothing dark blue in color, and the terminator showed a stark contrast between the planet's day and night sides, while the ambient glow of the day side threatened to wash out the light of the nearby stars.

"It's beautiful." Montoya breathed. It was the first truly alien world she'd ever seen, one not claimed by races she'd known all her life, and therefore not bound up in their cultures, politics and wars.

The Pilot smiled. "CAG thought you might want to see it." He said.

That made Montoya refocus her gaze. She could just make out the pale blue glow of the Cavalier's sublight engine exhaust some distance ahead.

The Science Officer grinned. "Thank her for me."

"Will do. We're 'in the lane' now. We'll complete this orbit in about forty-five seconds and assuming there's no problems we'll begin our descent."

"Very Well. Thank you for this, Lieutenant." She said, patting the pilot on the shoulder.

"My pleasure, Commander." He said. With that Montoya went back to her seat.

When she was out of earshot, the co-pilot muttered "Suck-up."

"Bite me." The Pilot said.

Less than a minute later the Workhorse began its descent. The reentry was plotted so that the transport would be a few minutes away from the target area once it was in the clear. The descent itself took three minutes, which the Landing Party spent in silence. Everyone was nervous to an extent. McDonald and Song, the officers with the most experience at this kind of mission, were best at hiding it. Montoya tried to emulate them, but it was difficult. Despite her best efforts she found herself fiddling with the buckle on her safety harness. Ultimately she folded her hands in her lap and forced herself to keep them there.

"Rider One, Hauler One is Feet Hot and proceeding to LZ." The Pilot radioed to Silas once the ship was clear of the ionized air created by its reentry.

"Roger, Hauler One," Silas radioed back, "Rider One taking station." The Cavalier would now take up a racetrack pattern in the upper atmosphere over the landing area.

Another minute had passed when the Pilot called Montoya to the cockpit again. When she stuck her head in he reported: "We're starting to feel that magnetic interference. Onboard sensors, inertial navigation and communications are all being affected. We can compensate, but it's a clear sign that whatever we're heading for is putting out a lot of power."

Montoya watched through the windscreen as the transport streaked over the harsh landscape of the planet's northern continent until it reached the landing area, a wide valley in a mountainous region. As the ship descended into the valley everyone in the cockpit noticed that there was something at its center, something large, black and artificial.

"I thought nobody lived here." The Pilot said as he pulled in close.

"Nobody does." Montoya said.

They got a better look as the ship pulled in close and began circling. The object was a black, four-sided pyramid, about twenty feet tall and adorned with gold markings that no one could make out. Though it was impossible for them to tell what purpose it served, Montoya had no doubt who'd built it there.

"The Warp-Futzers." She whispered.


	9. Segment Seven

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE GOD MACHINE**

**by Darrin Colbourne**

* * *

The flight crew and Montoya stared wordlessly at the object for about a minute before the Science Officer turned to the Pilot and said: "Well, set us down!"

"You need to get strapped back in, Commander." The Pilot said calmly. Montoya complied as quickly as she could manage. As she did, the Pilot looked for a level patch of land in the valley to land on, locating one about sixty yards from the black pyramid.

Montoya had barely got her harness back on by the time the Pilot began his landing approach. Later, the ship had barely stopped moving when she removed it again. "Lower the boarding ramp!" She called out as she stood and got ready to go down to the cargo level.

"Belay that!" McDonald called out a second later. When Montoya turned to confront her, she said calmly, "You have a Landing Party to prepare, Commander."

Chastened, Montoya nodded to her and then said to the others. "Come with me, everyone."

On cue, the rest of the party stood and followed Montoya down to the cargo level. Montoya went immediately to the case the technicians had brought aboard at the last minute. "We'll start with these." She said as she knelt down and opened it. "We'll take preliminary readings on the object and the surrounding area, then break out the heavy survey equipment." She started handing out the bulky, palm-computer-sized objects in the case to the researchers.

"What are those?" Song asked Goren as the engineer took one.

"Triple-source Data Recorders." Goren said. "Modified civilian versions of the wrist-scanners the Special Forces guys wear."

"Mouthful of a name." Song said.

"We call 'em 'Tri-corders' for short." Goren said. "They're capable of scanning across the entire EM spectrum, plus they've got a significant SONAR capability, as well as good-ol'-fashioned digital cameras."

He handed the device to the Lander, who examined it curiously. The device was black and sported a small display screen, a smaller touch-pad control console and a few small "Billboard"-style scanning antennae. Song handed the thing back with a raise of his eyebrow and a nod.

Montoya broke out the radios next. They were small, silver, voice-controlled transceivers capable of real-time, line-of-sight communication out to a range of one light-second. Montoya took one for herself and gave one each to everyone else.

Then it was time for the weapons. "We have two types of weapons." She said as she opened the cases.

When she saw the Phasers, Flores said, "Flashlights? Flashlights are weapons?"

Song took the cue and explained what the Phasers could do, then Montoya instructed the Landing Party members to take the weapon of their choice. She wasn't surprised when Song and McDonald took Childress particle weapons and when most of the researchers, including herself, took Phasers. Her only surprise came when she saw Goren take a Childress.

"No offense, Boss," he said when she looked at him, "but if it comes to actually using these things, I don't want my target getting back up."

"Toldja." Song said to her. Montoya just shook her head as she opened the ammunition cases. Everyone loaded their weapons with power packs and Song gave everyone a quick and dirty refresher course on the weapons' operation. Once that was done Song passed out holsters. Each Childress came with a standard holster that clipped to the uniform belt, while the Phasers came with sheathe holsters that strapped to the leg.

The last thing to do was break out the jackets and caps. Montoya was surprised how plain the jackets were. They were simple black, lined windbreakers with "Starfleet" stenciled in bold white letters on the back. The caps were more elaborate, sporting _Enterprise_'s name, registry number and silhouette in gold on black.

Finally, after everyone was equipped, Montoya held out her arms and presented herself to McDonald for inspection. McDonald smirked and reached for the comm panel. "Lower the boarding ramp." she said when she keyed the cockpit circuit.

"Thank you." Montoya said to her as the ramp started to come down, then she set herself to disembark as soon as it touched the ground. Seconds later she was walking on alien soil and taking her first close look at the landing zone.

Except for the slight carbon smell to the air, the valley might have been taken as a piece from any mountain region in Earth's Northern Hemisphere. The ground was sparsely covered with patches of grass, while bare trees dotted the surrounding mountains. There was a slight snow cover on the peaks, but none that she could see on the ground nearby. McDonald had been right about the weather. There was a persistent breeze that blew loose strands of her hair and kissed her cheek with the cool temperature. The purplish twilight sky lent an unreal air to the view.

And in the center of it all, off to the left of the ship, was the strange black pyramid. It sat near the center of the valley, tall, silent and foreboding.

Montoya headed off in that direction, barely registering the others as they followed her out of the ship. "What do you want us to do?" Flores called after her.

"I want you, Ben and Jim to help me study the pyramid." Montoya called back. "Have Parminder and Cole study the surrounding area for signs of intelligent life, recent or otherwise."

As Goren and Greenfield trotted off to join her and Flores got the research technicians working, McDonald called out to Montoya: "Shouldn't we establish some kind of defensive perimeter?"

"That's all right, Number One." Song said. "We can handle that."

McDonald looked at him, then shook her head and sighed. "There was a time when my opinion counted for something."

"It still counts," Song said, watching Montoya's receding back. "I just don't think she's hearing you right now." With that he drew his weapon, removed the safety and headed off toward the far end of the valley. McDonald, for want of a better course of action, followed the scientists.

Montoya was halfway to the pyramid by the time the others caught up with her. She was taking in the detail of the object with every step. It was indeed twenty feet tall, and colored a such a deep black that it almost looked like a hole in reality. Now that she was close enough she could tell that the gold markings were some sort of glyphs. There were three on the side she could see, stacked top to bottom. "Jim," She said, "can you make any of those out?"

Greenfield strained to get a better look. "I'd have to get closer to be sure…but honestly, Isabel, from here they look like somebody with aphasia tried to write something in Japanese. It doesn't correspond to anything I'd recognize. It's gibberish to me."

"They look like they're being projected onto the surface," Flores said as they got closer still, "but I don't see any obvious projection sources."

"Think they're being lit up from under the surface?" Montoya asked Goren.

"Could be." Goren said. "We should be able to tell for sure once we're closer, but let me just take a quick scan." He turned on his tri-corder and pointed it at the pyramid. After a few seconds of scanning, he muttered: "Okay…wow."

"What's up?" Flores said.

"I'm not detecting anything."

"You mean you can't find a projection source?" Montoya said.

"I mean I can't find _anything_. Or the tri-corder can't find anything, at any rate. I'm detecting the magnetic distortion it's causing, strong as ever, but nothing involving the source itself. Materials scan, infrared scan…everything comes back 'Not Enough Data'. Even the camera image shows a triangle-shaped blur where the object's supposed to be."

That made the others take out their tri-corders and begin scanning. The other tri-corders yielded the same results. The four scientists stopped short for a moment and just stared at their respective displays, then they looked at each other, and then back at the pyramid before resuming their approach. They stopped for good around a meter from the base of the construct, then began scanning anew. As they tried to make sense of the scans they spread out around the pyramid, each person taking a side. Then, as if on instinct, they all began to circle the construct in a clockwise direction.

It was this sight that greeted McDonald as she finally caught up with the group. She stopped short a few meters away, just taking it all in. She stifled a small chuckle, then forced a serious look onto her face. Still, she couldn't help but poke fun. "Have we discovered a sort of Cosmic Maypole then?" She called out, then resumed her approach. As she got closer she could see Flores glaring at her and muttering under her breath just a moment before turning her attention back to her tri-corder.

"We're not sure _what_ we've discovered." Montoya answered as she rounded a corner and came into view. "These scanners are apparently not up to the task of working that out." She turned off the tri-corder in frustration, crossed her arms and just stared at the first set of glyphs. When McDonald was standing next to her, Montoya said: "Symbols like these are on each side of the pyramid. There's no way to tell what they stand for, or even if they stand for anything at all. They could be _graffiti_ for all we know. We'll just have to set up some of the dedicated scanning equipment we brought with us and hope to have better luck."

"And should that dedicated equipment also fail?" McDonald asked as the others gathered around.

Montoya shrugged. "We could always just turn all of _Enterprise_'s sensors on it…"

"I see. Correct me if I'm wrong, but we are assuming that this device represents - what did you call them? - The 'Warp-Futzers', yes?"

"We are."

"The very same beings who tossed _Enterprise_ across space not once but three times, and then slapped her on the wrist for daring to interfere in these people's Mutual Assured Destruction?"

"The very same."

"Ah. And just what do you suppose they'll do if we park _Enterprise_ in synchronous orbit over it and use her to start picking it apart electromagnetically?"

"I have no idea," Montoya said, frustration in her voice, "and I'm _tired_ of having no idea."

McDonald regarded her for a moment, then looked back at the pyramid. "Ah-hum." She said, then looked back at Montoya. "Very Well. I will be over there." She pointed to a spot past the pyramid. "You just let me know if you need anything." Then she walked away, shaking her head.

Flores put a hand on Montoya's shoulder. "Don't let her get to you, Belle."

"And don't let _this_ get to you either." Greenfield said, gesturing to the pyramid. "There's always an answer. We just have to find it."

Montoya found little comfort in her colleagues' words. What was it that the Captain said? Sometimes answers can be _wrong_. What if all their work yielded nothing more than the wrong answer?

Still, they had to try. "Let's get the rest of our stuff set up." Montoya said. Goren nodded and then headed back to the transport.

* * *

With the Executive Officer and Science Officer both down on the planet, Captain Pike had assumed the Evening Watch and Commander Adams had opted to join him. The Captain sat comfortably in the command chair - at least, he _looked_ comfortable. There was actually a storm brewing behind his steely gaze as he stared at the planet on the main viewer. He'd come to a point where he wanted to know what was going on as much as Montoya, so much so that he was tempted to bring the _Enterprise_ over the target area and start pinging away with the Main Sensor on his own initiative. He restrained himself for several reasons, not the least of which was that the energy of the scans would parboil any unprotected members of the Landing Party.

"New Contacts!" The Sensor Officer called out. "Two small airborne contacts ascending from the base we designated Four Charlie."

"Looks like somebody's got their Air Force up and running again." Pike grumbled. It had only been a matter of time. "Course and speed?"

"They're accelerating through transonic speeds now, heading…Sir, they're inbound the Landing Party's position."

Pike blanched, letting his mask of calm slip for just a second. He recovered quickly and turned to the Comm Officer. "Send Rider One! I want a close-up ID of what those things are!"

* * *

"Rider One, Prize." Silas heard in her ear. "VID Bogeys One and Two, bearing Due South your position, heading Due North, Angels 30 and climbing, speed One-Four-Eight-Zero knots."

"Copy that, Prize." Silas said as she turned her ship South and accelerated. "VID Bogey One and Bogey Two. Moving to identify. Out." Then to her WSO: "Ready to take some pictures, Pete?"

"Optical system is up and running." Pete said. "I just need some birds to watch."

"Coming right up." Silas said. The "birds" in question were currently climbing through 30,000 feet and doing Mach 2, but it wouldn't be hard for Silas to intercept them. The Cavalier's top speed would make it seem as if the "Bogeys" were standing still, and since the optical system was engineered to operate at the Cavalier's pace, the extreme velocities involved in the fly-by wouldn't distort the image. It was only a matter of seconds before the paths of the three flying objects intersected, then Silas simply continued on around the globe, returning to her patrol area from the opposite direction.

"Okay," Pete said, "we got a couple of local Fast-Movers, low-observable airframes, vectored thrust engines, probably running balls-to-the-wall, speed-wise."

"Loadout?" Silas asked.

"No visible armament, but that could just mean they carry it internally."

"Could be. And they're headed for the LZ?"

"Right for it. At their current course and speed they'll pass over the Western end of the valley in about forty-eight minutes."

"Okay, Best Case Scenario, somebody just wants a looksee at the LZ. _Worst_ Case Scenario…"

"Uh, CAG? A couple of hours ago these people were lobbing _nukes_ at each other. Which do you think is the safer bet?"

No one could see Silas grimace under her breathing mask. "Good point." She said, then switched to external comms. "Prize, Rider One, VID Bogeys One and Two as _Hostile_ Air inbound the LZ, loadout unknown. Request permission to intercept." It would be a short fight. The Cavalier had an outlandish speed advantage and its laser would incinerate the targets in microseconds.

* * *

"Captain, Rider One has identified the aircraft as hostile and is requesting permission to engage." The Communications Officer reported.

Pike hesitated. He found himself fighting his gut instinct, which was to give that permission. The problem was that every action the _Enterprise_ had taken since coming to this system had been responded to in kind. While trying to Warp in, she was thrown away at Warp. After stopping a War with an EMP, she was disabled with an EMP. Rider One might easily dispatch the two aircraft, but the object the Landing Party was currently investigating might retaliate by splashing the Cavalier and/or blasting _Enterprise_ out of space, doing no one any good. Still, without knowing exactly what the aircraft were going to do it would be foolish to let them get near the Landing Party, but what could he do if he couldn't just shoot them down?

As soon as he asked himself the question, the answer had become obvious. "Tell Rider One to hold fire and stay on station, then patch me through to the Landing Party."

* * *

Montoya had been going over the data provided by the research technicians as Goren supervised the setting up of the heavy equipment. It turned out that the valley had only been scarcely visited until about a month or two before, and then had been heavily trampled on, especially near the pyramid. The information actually answered several of her questions, but the most important ones remained unanswered, and Montoya was sure that would remain the case until they cracked the mystery of the pyramid.

She was contemplating the object when a voice sounded from the radio in her pocket: "_Enterprise_ to Commander Montoya."

Montoya pulled out the radio, found and pressed the push-to-talk contact and spoke into the mike. "This is Montoya. Go ahead."

Captain Pike came on next. "Commander, your deadline just got pushed up. You've got twenty minutes to do whatever you need to do and then get back up here."

"But, Captain, we just started setting up our scanning instruments around the pyramid…"

"Pyramid?"

"It's the thing that has been causing us so many problems, and we've run into a snag trying to figure it out. We need more time. It will take at least ten minutes to set up our equipment and get everything running, and I doubt seriously that we'll find out what we need to know…"

"Commander, right now there are two tactical aircraft headed right for you. We don't know what their purpose is, but it's a safe bet that they're not coming in peace. We expect them to be over the landing zone in a little over forty-five minutes, so I want you out of there and underway long before they arrive."

"Well, can't you stop them somehow?"

"I can shoot them down. How do you think your new friends would take that, given what we've seen them do already?"

"I honestly don't know…"

"And neither do I, which is why, in this case, discretion is most definitely the better part of valor."

"But you said they wouldn't be here for forty-five minutes! Surely, you can give us forty to…"

"Montoya, I don't want them to see you _at all_ when they arrive, not prepping for lift-off, not lifting off…I want them to reach that area and see _nothing_ that has to do with us, understand? So you will be 'wheels up' in twenty minutes, even if I have to order Major Song to cold-cock you and toss you into the loading bay. Are we clear?"

Montoya frowned. "_Perfectly_, Sir."

"I'll be seeing you soon, then. Pike out."

Montoya resisted the urge to toss the radio away in anger. _How did I let myself get talked into this?_ She wondered. Then she remembered: Dr. Narain had convinced her that she would have some autonomy, that the scientific part of the mission was hers to control and that the Captain would defer to her on such matters, yet it seemed that Pike was determined to treat this project as just another war patrol and make decisions accordingly. And here _she_ was obeying him like a good little Able Crewman, under threat of the lash. It was suddenly very clear to her. She _couldn't_ do this for five whole years, couldn't have every attempt to study something disrupted on some martial whim. She'd have to resign her commission and go home, and just admit to Dr. Narain that she couldn't handle it.

But that task was for later. Right now she had an alien object that defied analysis and less than twenty minutes to figure it out. She expected never to get another chance at it, so whatever she came up with had to yield a wealth of information in a short amount of time, and as she came to that conclusion she realized that even if all the heavy scanners were up and running right now, they wouldn't tell her what she wanted to know. Powerful as they were, they worked on the same principles as the tri-corders, which had seen _nothing_. It was apparent that while electronic devices could see the effect the object was having on the rest of the universe, they wouldn't see the pyramid itself. But Montoya and the others could see it clearly…and maybe that was the point.

She walked toward the pyramid, passing through the perimeter being formed with the scanners. Goren's eye followed her as she came to within about arm's length of the object. She stood there for a moment, just staring, then she started to reach out to it.

"WhoaWhoa_Whoa!_" Goren said as he rushed over to her, startling her into pulling her hand back. "_Not_ a good idea, Boss!"

Flores came over when she heard Goren. "What's wrong?" She said.

"I was just about to touch it." Montoya said.

"Have we learned _nothing_ from 2001?" Goren said.

Montoya and Flores traded a confused look, then looked at Goren. "What about 2001?" Montoya said.

"Yeah, what happened back then?" Flores asked.

"Not _the year_ 2001," Goren said, "I mean _2001: A Space Odyssey_." He got blank stares in response. "Classic sci-fi story? Book by Arthur Clarke, Movie by Stanley Kubrik?" More blank stares. "Whatever…the moral of the story is human beings touching big, black, alien objects can only lead to no good."

Flores and Montoya traded exasperated looks, then turned back to Goren. "Ben, we're not going to learn anything with the scanning equipment." Montoya said. "All it's going to see is the environment _around_ the pyramid. Obviously, one of its functions is to hide itself from electronic sensing systems, but we can _see_ it, plain as day, so it's _not_ hiding itself from our natural senses. Now, it's not making any noise and it's not giving off any odors, so that leaves two, and the most logical one to try next is Touch." And with that Montoya turned back to the pyramid and reached out, placing a palm flat against the surface.

And the next moment, everything was _gone_.

Montoya found herself standing at one corner of a flat black square about the size of the base of the pyramid. The square was surrounded on all sides by what looked like high-energy plasma, though it wasn't giving off any kind of heat. In fact, it felt cooler wherever she was at the moment than it had been in the valley on Indira Four. She started to pace, trying to get her bearings, but found as she walked that her footfalls made no sound against the surface of the square. She stopped in the center, unnerved at the lack of noise and wondering if Goren had been right to worry. She was _sure_ he was right when she suddenly felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and felt like she was being watched. She spun around and came face to face with…herself.

At first glance the figure standing before her seemed to be a perfect replica, same face, same build, same clothing, but closer inspection revealed that the doppelganger was an imperfect one. The most immediate sign of this was the way the clothes fit. The Work Blue shirt and slacks and boots and jacket and cap all seemed to blend together with each other and the doppelganger's body, as if whoever created it didn't know which parts were Montoya and which were simply coverings. The most disturbing difference was that there were shiny black orbs where her bright, hazel eyes should have been.

Slowly, deliberately, Montoya pulled out her tri-corder and pointed it at the doppelganger, who regarded the device curiously. Montoya turned it on, scanned for a moment and looked at the display. She was only mildly surprised when all that she could see was a true reflection of herself.

"Okay," she muttered, "I should have seen that coming." She only barely registered how detached her voice sounded as she put the tri-corder away. Then she looked back at the doppelganger and thought aloud: "All right, so only with my natural senses."

She reached out tentatively, moving to touch the doppelganger's face. Her fingers brushed lightly against the construct's cheek. What Montoya felt wasn't skin. It wasn't anything. It felt to her as if her fingertips were pressing against sheer force, with no recognizable pattern to it other than its shape. Montoya ran her hand along the jawbone all the way to the chin and used that to lift the doppelganger's head slightly, then examined its features closely. She smiled a little, marveling at how close the doppelganger's creators got to replicating her. Satisfied, Montoya slowly withdrew her hand and the doppelganger went back to looking her in the eye. A moment later the doppelganger's hand came up, and Montoya was prepared for it to examine her the way she had examined it. The doppelganger's fingertips came all the way up to Montoya's forehead, and Montoya had the brief sensation of that same unrecognizable force brushing against the skin above her eyebrows…

…then there was nothing but _pain_ as that same force slashed into her mind, and she screamed as it filled her head with thousands of images of destruction! The assault was brutal and unrelenting, and it felt as if time had stopped as she succumbed to it! Ultimately her mind couldn't take anymore and she began to black out. Her last sensation was that of her knees buckling under her…

"Belle!" Wendy Flores's voice called out, and then Montoya felt arms grabbing her from both sides, keeping her from collapsing on the ground. Instead they helped her to her knees and kept her propped up as she shook off the effects of the contact. She moaned as residual images and pain coursed through her skull.

Commander McDonald and Jim Greenfield came running up and saw Flores and Ben Goren supporting Montoya. "What happened?" Greenfield said.

"I don't know! She just touched that thing and screamed and then went down!" Flores said.

"That's one 'I told you so' I owe you, Boss." Goren said to Montoya.

"Ben, would you _shut up!_" Flores said.

"All right, all right," Number One said, trying to keep everyone calm. She reached out and lifted Montoya's head by the chin and looked her over. "Can you hear me, Commander?" She asked.

McDonald's voice helped her to clear her head, but not enough to answer coherently. Her response was a low mumble.

"It's like she's been shot with a Phaser. You say this happened when she touched the pyramid?"

"Just after." Goren said.

"Well, what made her do it in the first place?"

"She said the scanners wouldn't work and figured she had to try that."

"Maybe the thing is booby-trapped somehow. Flores, where _exactly_ did she touch it?"

"Right there!" Flores said, turning to point, then her hand dropped slowly as her eyes went wide.

McDonald saw the look on her face. "What is it?" She said as she turned to look where Flores was looking.

"Jim," Flores said, her voice low, "did those symbols _change_?"

Hearing that brought Montoya almost all the way back to alertness. She fought hard through the fuzziness so she could hear Greenfield's answer.

"They _did._" He said, then he walked around the pyramid. When he came back, he said: "They've _all_ changed!"

That did it for Montoya. "We need to go…"

Everyone turned to her at the sound of the weak voice. "Relax, Boss." Goren said. "We've got plenty of time."

Montoya ignored him and turned to McDonald, then she mustered as much strength as she could. "We…_must_ get off this planet…!" Her voice cracked.

McDonald looked into her eyes for a moment, then began giving orders. "Mister Goren, Mister Flores, help her back into the transport. There should be a First Aid kit in the loading bay. Mister Greenfield, I want you and your people to start getting your equipment back inside! Don't waste energy being neat! Anything that's not back aboard in three minutes gets left behind!" She stood as the researchers moved to carry out her orders and pulled out her radio. "McDonald to Song."

"Song here." The Major responded from his post.

"Come in. We're leaving"

"Copy that. Out." Song said, then double-timed it back to the transport.

With the Landing Party in hand, McDonald switched frequencies. "McDonald to _Enterprise_. Landing Party is Returning to Base. Repeat: Landing Party Returning to Base."

* * *

"Sir, Landing Party is returning to base." The Communications Officer said.

"I guess they found something." Adams said.

"If _Montoya_ found something," Pike said as he checked his watch, "why are they _coming back_?"

"Maybe she's eager to show it to you?"

"Riiight." Pike said as he glanced back at the Engineer, then he turned back to the main viewer. "Battle Stations!"

The lights in control went red and the alert klaxon sounded. "Load tubes with Mark 24s!" Pike called out. This time he intended to be ready in case the pyramid-whatever had any other tricks up its sleeve. The Mark 24 torpedo was a multi-megaton nuke mated to a smallcraft Space Warp Engine. Five seconds after it left the tube, it would enter Warp and reenter normal space in the center of the target. No defense in normal space could stop it. There was no need to maneuver or overwhelm the target with weapons. It was a relatively new weapon in Starfleet's arsenal, but Jellico had managed to acquire enough of them to equip each of his ships with ten. Pike was ready to use two of his most powerful weapons against the device, regardless of the potential consequences.

* * *

McDonald stood by the loading ramp and watched as Greenfield and the research assistants ran all of their equipment back into the transport, sparing a glance every now and again at the pyramid, which seemed to do nothing but sit idly and display its symbols. She couldn't understand what about it had spooked Montoya enough to want to rush their departure, but she was secretly glad of it. Few things in her career had made her jumpier than this system had and she wanted to move on. She would have preferred to go back home and take on a saner mission - like facing Klingons in hand-to-hand combat - but she would settle for the next system.

Greenfield stopped in front of her to report. "That's the last of it. We've got everything inside."

McDonald gestured inside the transport. "Let's go. Secure everything as best you can before we lift-off." With that they both boarded the transport and McDonald got on the comm. "We're aboard. Button up and get airborne." She waited a second until the boarding ramp started to come up, then made her way to the passenger area. There she found Flores, Goren and Song clustered around Montoya, who was strapped into a seat and resting with her head back and eyes closed.

Flores had broken out the First Aid kit and was using the scanners inside to monitor Montoya's vitals. "She'll be fine." Flores said as McDonald came over. "It's like you said. Whatever happened stunned her, but there's no sign of external trauma."

McDonald nodded and then addressed Montoya. "How are you doing, Commander?"

Montoya didn't open her eyes, but her voice was stronger when she answered: "Better. We have to get underway as soon as the smallcraft are back aboard."

McDonald's response was halted by the sensation of upward movement as the transport lifted off. She made her way to the cockpit and stuck her head in. "Better get everyone settled in back there, Number One." The pilot said. "I assume we're in a hurry, so we're gonna be standing on our tail in a couple seconds."

"Very Well." McDonald said. "When we're in orbit advise the ship to have a medical team standing by in the Flight Bay and that the Science Officer recommends we get underway as soon as all craft are recovered."

"Aye Aye, Sir." The pilot said as McDonald went back to get everyone organized.

* * *

"Sir," the Communications Officer said, "Hauler One is 'Feet Cold' and both Hauler One and Rider One are Returning to Base. Hauler One advises we need a med team standing by in the Flight Bay and that the Science Officer recommends we depart once all craft are recovered."

"Any indication why," Pike said, "or _how fast_ we need to depart?"

"No word on that, Sir. Just that we need to depart."

"Well, let's hope a good run'll do it. Recall the tactical probe and get a med team to the bay. Helm, bring us up forty-five degrees and prepare for Flank Speed on my mark…"

* * *

Streaking above Indira Four, the pilots of the two fighters heading for Celestial Valley were informed that the unidentified craft they were sent to investigate had lifted off - or at least, had seemed to. The high-powered tracking systems that had been used to track it since it entered the atmosphere were still unreliable, thanks to lingering damage from the mysterious electromagnetic pulse that had struck the entire planet, so none of their operators could trust the data. That meant the pilots' mission had been altered, from identification of the object to confirmation of the sensor data. For the moment that didn't require changing the mission profile, so they were maintaining course and speed.

And in the valley, the symbols on the pyramid changed one more time…

* * *

Hauler One was the first through the airlock and into the Flight Deck, then Rider One, and finally the spare tactical probe that had been launched when the Landing Party was on the surface was drawn in on remote control. The second he got confirmation that the airlock hatches were shut, Pike gave the order: "Ahead Flank! Deflectors Full Intensity! Steady on this bearing!"

"Ahead Flank, Aye!" The helmsman said as he fire-walled the Sub-light throttle, driving the power output of the engines into the red and cueing the thrust vents to expand to accommodate the extra heat and force of the exhaust. _Enterprise_ flashed out of orbit at a little over 100,000 kps, grazing the upper atmosphere of Indira Four on her way out of the ecliptic plane. "Answers Ahead Flank! Deflectors Full Intensity!"

"Departure angle!" Pike ordered. He wanted to see how quickly they put distance between themselves and Indira Four. The helmsman complied, switching the view on the main screen from forward to aft. The planet was already a small dot in the starfield and it was continuing to shrink to nothingness. Soon it was followed by Indira itself, and just as the star returned to being a slightly brighter point of light in a view full of bright points of light, Pike noticed a brief, bright flare of light where the fourth planet would have been.

"Sir," The Sensor Officer piped up, "Rackets on the gravimeter and magnetometer, bearing 180 by 185. Something on or around Indira Four just created a major distortion in the cosmic background."

Pike let that sink in a moment, then said, "Stop Engines, yaw left to one-eight-zero, Slow to Ahead Cruise. Bring the main sensors to bear on Indira Four."

The helmsman and Sensor Officer complied, and it was only a few seconds before the scans yielded results. "Data's coming up now, Captain." The Sensor Officer said.

Pike turned to look at the stations repeater screen and saw the images from the optical sensor. "My God…" he breathed.


	10. Segment Eight

**DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no money has changed hands. The original characters and events are the sole property of the author and may not be used without permission._

**STAR TREK:**

**THE GOD MACHINE**

**by Darrin Colbourne**

* * *

A short time later, Pike walked out of the turbolift onto the Life Support Deck and made his way to the Decontamination Section. He'd asked Boyce to meet him there, so the Doctor was waiting for him outside the door. "How are they doing?" The Captain asked.

"No sign of infection so far." Boyce said as he led Pike inside. "I'm going to keep them in for at least 24 hours. If nothing nasty pops up after that time, I'll give 'em all full workups and, barring any anomalous results, I'll turn 'em loose."

The Decontamination Section was a room about two-thirds the size of Sick Bay. There was an isolation ward capable of accommodating four people in comfort and twenty people in an emergency on either side of the space. Each chamber was equipped to allow medics to monitor the people inside from without and several different airlocks to allow for the transfer of food and other supplies and equipment. Boyce had the Landing Party interned by gender, so Goren, Greenfield, Song, one research technician and the pilot and co-pilot of Hauler One were in the ward to the right, while the distaff members of the party were in the one on the left.

The outer wall of each chamber was built with a large window. Pike waved and smiled to the men through their window, then moved over to the chamber with the women. "How's Montoya?" He asked.

"Whatever happened to her down there gave her the equivalent of a bad blow to the head," Boyce said, "but that's all. I've got Lieutenant Flores watching her for signs of concussion, but I don't see any reason why she wouldn't be able to resume her duties after a little bedrest."

McDonald, sitting on a bed along the outer wall, noticed Pike first as he approached the window and stood up to face him. The researcher, sitting on another bed nearby, stood and came over to find out what she was looking at. Montoya was laying on a bed along the inner wall, with Flores sitting on the edge. They were too deep in conversation to notice Pike's arrival.

"Can I talk to her?" Pike said.

"Sure." Boyce said, then he noticed Pike was carrying a datapad. "What's on that?" He asked.

"Answers, hopefully." Pike said, then reached out and touched the intercom contact. "Welcome back, Number One." He said with a smile. "How was the field trip?"

McDonald hesitated for a moment, then smiled back, "_Bracing_, Sir. I prefer to take my shore leave in more tropical climes."

"I'll bet you do." He said, then became more serious. "How about you, Montoya? You up for answering some questions?"

Montoya sighed audibly. "I'm _fine_, Captain." She said. "_Really. _I tried to tell _them_ that…"

Flores, now looking through the window at Pike, said, "You'll have to excuse Belle, Captain. She's _that_ kind of patient."

"So's _he_." Boyce said, pointing to Pike. The jibes earned Flores a playful swat on the arm and the Doctor a quick glare from his Captain.

Pike turned back to the window. "You just stay down, Commander. In the meantime, would you like to tell me exactly what happened down there?"

"I'd _love_ to, Sir, but I don't think you'll believe me."

"I'm willing to be open-minded about it. I'm going to send a 'pad through. I want you to look at some of the data we recorded." He opened the small supply airlock and slipped the 'pad in, then closed it and cycled the computer through. "You want to hand that to her, Crewman?"

The researcher took the pad out of the airlock, gave the screen a quick glance, then handed it over to Montoya. The other women gathered around to look on as the Science Officer scrolled through the still images.

"What are we seeing?" McDonald said. The images showed a dense cluster of planetoids, asteroids and smaller debris surrounding a bright, hazy cloud.

"That is what's left of Indira Four." Pike said.

McDonald looked toward the window. "It blew up? How?"

"I have no idea." Pike said.

"Neither do I," Montoya said as she handed the 'pad to Flores, "but it makes perfect sense."

"I'm glad _someone_ thinks so. How about enlightening the rest of us?"

"Well, first off, you were right. It's good that we left the planet before those fighters could spot us."

"What fighters?" Flores said.

"You didn't tell them?" Pike said.

"Sorry, Sir." Montoya said. "I was a little…_distracted_."

"Never mind. Do you think the fighters had something to do with that?"

"Oh, _no_. The Warp-Futzers did that to the planet."

"You know," McDonald said as she went back to where she was sitting, "you really _are_ going to have to come up with a proper name for them." This caused the other women to chuckle and Pike and Boyce to smile.

"We'll think of something creative for the After-Action Report." Pike said. "Now, what about that pyramid you saw? You say that's what interfered with us on the way here and when we got here? Do you think it also destroyed Indira Four?"

"I'm _sure_ of it." Montoya said.

"How can you be?"

"I touched it, and I found myself…I honestly don't know _where_ I was, but when I was there I saw something. Maybe it was one of them, or maybe a personification of the pyramid, but whatever it was touched me and filled my head with violent images. That's what knocked me out."

"Wait, Belle," Flores said, "you didn't 'go' anywhere! Ben and I were watching the whole time. You touched the pyramid, screamed and fell back."

"Really? Well, maybe I didn't go anywhere _physically_, but I was _not_ on Indira Four when that thing shoved those images in my head."

"Why would it do that at all?" Pike said.

"To scare the hell out of me, most likely," Montoya said, "make me run screaming and not look back…and I guess that's what I did."

"So you _knew_ this would happen?" Pike said.

"Not really. Not _consciously_…but I knew _something_ would happen."

"Did _they_ know?" Every turned at the question. It was Boyce. "The Indirans! Did they know their world was going to be destroyed?"

Montoya's voice became very sad. "They knew. It's what started the war."

"I'm still not following, Commander." Pike said.

"Well, Sir, what would you do if you knew your world was about to end?"

Pike thought for a moment. "I suppose I'd want to find some way to stop it."

"And if you knew for sure you couldn't?"

"I'd try to find a way to escape it." McDonald said.

Montoya nodded. "The pyramid had symbols on it. We never got a chance to translate them, but in the Indirans' language they probably said something unambiguous, like, 'The World Will End On Such and Such a Date!', or whatever. And the ground in the valley the pyramid was in was trampled, recently enough to still leave evidence of it. I think…I _think_ that the pyramid was some kind of tourist attraction, maybe an old religious icon, but one that never eroded with age. It's possible that there was a different set of symbols on it at first, benign ones, and then one day someone went to the valley and found that the symbols had _changed_ to the announcement of doom.

"Of course this is big news, so he goes and tells somebody and they come and look, and then they tell others and _they_ come and look, and so on and so on until soon the military is involved, and the government, and then _several_ militaries and governments, all trying to figure out why this thing that hasn't changed in so many millennia is saying all of a sudden that they're doomed. Naturally, there are some who don't believe the message, who think it's some kind of hoax, or that the symbols are being misinterpreted, but eventually enough think the threat is real and start looking for options.

"So first they look for a way to stop it, but they don't really know what 'it' is. They don't know _how_ the world will end, just that it will. They can't find anything out from the pyramid because there's no way to scan it, and anyone who touches it would simply see…what I saw. So then comes the discussion of how to escape it, but a culture at this stage of development couldn't possibly devise an escape system for the entire populace. They might build a relative handful of spacecraft to get some of the populace off the planet and farther out into the system, but their time is short and the looming question is: 'Who gets to go?'

"Of course this causes the obvious problem: millions of people who know they're going to die and who also know that only a handful might survive are _all_ going to decide they're the ones worthy of salvation. This will cause widespread panic, lawlessness, riots…and that's just the internal problems. Add to that the possibility that some nations aren't advanced enough to create their own escape systems, and look jealously at the ones that can…"

"And some launch wars of aggression," McDonald said, "to steal what the better-off nations have, or to destroy those systems to make sure everyone suffers the fate of the world equally."

"And under those circumstances the war can only end up a global one," Montoya said, "and that meant everyone was effectively trapped on the planet, at the very least until the conflict was settled."

"You know all this for a fact?" Pike said.

Montoya shook her head. "Total conjecture…but it's the only scenario that fits the facts."

"And how do _we_ fit in? If all of that's true, what do we have to do with any of it? Why mess with our systems?"

Montoya turned her head to see Pike clearly. "Captain, it makes _perfect_ sense if the pyramid's controllers _didn't want_ any Indirans to escape."

"Explain."

"Well, there the pyramid was, all set to wipe out all life on that planet and there wasn't a thing the dominant life-forms could do about it. They couldn't stop it and they couldn't leave, and if genocide was the Warp-Futzers' goal, it wouldn't be long before that goal was achieved. And then here _we_ come in our big, shiny, _Warp-capable_ spaceship, about to ruin everything."

"_How!"_ Flores said, indignant. "And I'm not saying I have a problem with ruining their little genocide plans, 'cause I would have _loved to_, but how could just coming here be a problem?"

Montoya smiled and spoke as calmly as she could. "Because we could have given the Indirans _hope_, Wendy. A warp-capable ship's re-entry into normal space would be detectable even to observation systems at their level of technological development. The people operating the systems wouldn't immediately know what they were seeing, but it wouldn't have been impossible for some really brilliant theorist to conjecture the way I've done, and come up with the notion of a Faster-Than-Light Spacecraft, one whose crew might be willing to evacuate some people or might be susceptible to attack. The chance of such a thing was slim, certainly, but not slim enough for the genocidal aliens' tastes."

"So when we tried to warp in," McDonald said, "it extended our jump so we re-entered at a point _beyond_ the Indirans' scanning range."

"Three times." Montoya said through clenched teeth, then forced herself to calm down again.

"And they didn't bother us when we came in at Sub-light because they knew the Indirans wouldn't see us." Pike said.

"With that worry out of the way they might have been content to just let us observe what was happening and deal with us as time permitted, but that got screwed up when we…when _I_ decided to intervene in the Indirans' nuclear war."

"How could stopping a nuclear war be _wrong_?" Flores asked.

"Don't you see, Gwendolyn?" Boyce said. "We expended all that energy to save a race that was _going to die anyway_ from a self-inflicted holocaust. The pyramid's controllers must have thought we were insane."

"Or simply out-of-line," McDonald said, "and they whipped us to remind us of our place."

"But _why?_" Flores said. "Why did all of those people have to die?"

"Why did Sodom and Gomorrah have to burn?" Boyce said. "Why was there a Great Flood? We'll never know what sins the Indirans committed to aggravate their gods. Or maybe there were no real sins, and this was just the controllers being capricious."

Everyone was silent for a moment as that thought sunk in, then Pike said, "Commander, do you suppose…?"

"No, Sir." Montoya said. "We can search if you'd like, but we won't find any survivors."

Flores was fighting back tears. "There might be…there _have_ to be! Maybe astronauts in orbital stations, or in a settlement on one of the other bodies…!"

Montoya took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Anything in orbit around Indira Four would have been destroyed when the planet exploded…and I have a feeling that if the Indirans had made it to another planet or moon, it would have been destroyed as well."

More silence, then Pike said, "Get some rest, Commander…all of you. We'll get underway once you're all back on duty." He turned off the intercom then and took a last look at Montoya, who was covering her face with her free hand and sobbing quietly. Then Pike and Boyce traded a worried look before they crossed over to the other chamber to fill in the rest of the Landing Party.

* * *

Ultimately, Pike's curiosity got the better of him, so while the Landing Party was in isolation he'd moved the _Enterprise_ back into the system, taking station near the debris field that was once Indira Four. As Montoya had predicted, several scans had turned up no survivors. There was also no sign of the pyramid. It was possible that it had been destroyed along with the planet, but Pike thought it likely that it had simply returned to wherever it had come from after completing its task.

The Landing Party completed its isolation period without incident, and after a thorough examination and a series of lab tests Boyce declared everyone fit to return to duty. On hearing that, Pike informed his senior officers that they would depart at the start of the next Forenoon Watch to give everyone a little more time to come terms with what had happened. When that watch came, Pike had the Communications Officer announce "Departure Stations" as soon as he took over in Control.

Montoya and McDonald arrived in Control together a minute later. Pike stood up from the Command Chair when he saw them. He traded nods with McDonald as she went to take over the helm, then went over to the Science Station as Montoya was about to sit down.

"You sure you're feeling up to this, Commander?" He asked her quietly.

Montoya thought a moment, then faced him and smiled. "Yes, Captain. I'm sure. There was a brief time when I thought I couldn't go on, but something happened to give me courage."

"What was that?"

"I realized there was bright side to all of this."

She turned to look at the main viewer, prompting Pike to follow suit. The debris field was taking up the screen.

"The explosion was enough to blow the planet apart, but not enough to scatter the pieces very far. In a few thousand years the largest pieces will begin to form planetessimals. In a million years or so those planetessimals will form back into one large body. Over the following millions of years the ingredients for life will be drawn into that body." They turned to face each other again. "And that's the point. Indira Four will live again someday. I can't begin to imagine why our cosmic friends wanted to destroy _this_ Indira Four, but if I'm forced to _guess_, I would say that they had a hand in the evolution of its life and were unsatisfied with the results, so they engineered this with the intent of starting over again…and the hope that the _new_ Indirans will get it right."

"That's your guess?"

"Yes, Sir. That's my guess."

Pike glanced at the screen. "Do you think the rest of this cruise is going to go like this?"

Montoya glanced at the screen, then the two officers faced each other. The Science Officer hesitated, then smiled and shrugged.

"Right." Pike said as he smiled back. "Take your station."

"Aye, Sir." Montoya said, then sat down as Pike crossed back to the Command Chair. As he sat down, Doctor Boyce's words came back to him:

"_A Long, Strange Trip", indeed._

"Set course for the next AOR." Pike ordered.

"Course plotted and laid in." The Navigator said.

McDonald moved the ship clear of the debris field and keyed her Intercraft control. "All Decks Prepare for Space Warp." She announced.

Pike waited a moment for the crew to get ready, then called out: "Engage!"

A second later the Space Warp Engines came to life, and the United Space Ship _Enterprise_ sped away from Indira Four and flashed out of the system.


End file.
